All I Have to Say

Being a PTA mom does NOT qualify you to be Vice- President of the United States of America.

If I hear one more person say, "I like that she was on the PTA..." I will vomit.

Nothing against moms (I hope to be one someday) or women running for office (obviously - I voted for Hillary) or even the PTA (even though I'm pretty sure my mom was too busy working to be on the one at my school) but this is America, arguably the most powerful (gulp) nation in the world (regardless of whether or not we are using that power for the highest good).

I mean, I know we elected George Bush and that was a joke, but so is having PTA on your political resume...

Please make it stop.

If you're going to talk about her credentials, just. don't. mention. the. P.T.A.

Anniversary

Today starts year four: coincidental that it's labor day.

The day I'm not working in honor of my labor, my labor begins it's fourth year.

Yep, I've been at FBC three years now. Today's my anniversary. Now I suppose Marshall, my business manager will now begin griping, "But I began paying you August 15, 2005," which is true I suppose but as I recall my first official kick-off day was Sept. 1.

Three full years. Man...

I'm remembering...

Jonathan and Justin, my two faithful college students. Then came Lauren and Samuel, Paul, Aaron and Elizabeth. Cantamos. Route 66. Hospital visits. Awakening. Angels Over Austin (which I never understood until I actually experienced it for the first time). Beresheth. J.B. Staff retreats. Resident retreats. Current. Lent. SWBYC. Outbound. Officiating Patrick & Angela's wedding. Children's Camp. VBS. Creative Arts Camp. More college kids: Alaina, Gracie, Amy, Jorge and a college name, "Water's Edge." Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Marcus Borg, Dom Crossan, Joan Chittister. Festival of Homiletics. My ordination. College Beach Trip. Singing "Down By the River" at baptisms. Baptizing Kat. Preaching a whole month in "big church." CBF conventions. BGCT Conventions. The first BGCT Women's Convention. More funerals than I can count. Email, websites, facebook, myspace, Clarion, mailouts, and text messages. Strategic Planning. Deacon's. Church Council. Discipleship Committee. Shows at Zachary Scott Theater and UT. Films & Faith. Theater Arts Action Team. Aria Da Capo. The Diaries of Adam & Eve. New Baptist Covenant. Births and tragedies. Lunches and coffees and dinners and on and on and on...

There's so many things I could name. I see I've forgotten the time I prayed over people at Taize. Preaching (or rather not preaching) at the Convention Center after Katrina and Rita. Agape meals. Midweek Moorings. Bible studies. Even a WMU meeting.

So many things to remember and so many things to look forward to. Here's to three more years... or to whatever lies ahead.

and to God... may we never stop loving others in the name of God no matter what our vocation or our calling.

A MUST Read

So I typically stick with theology, and more often biblical interpretation, but if I am on the "christian" side of the bookstore, I never pick up novels and certainly not fiction ones.

However...

This book came recommended to me by a friend, my pastor, and my parents. It's been on the National Bestseller list. It'll probably make it on Oprah if it hasn't already. Parts of it were spoiled for me which is what led me to want to actually read it. I will refrain from doing that to you. Hopefully my recommendation will be enough.

You MUST READ this book.

It is a biography (technically) about what happened one weekend to a man in Oregon. But some people will say its not true.

Many actually.

But either way, the profundity of the novel will affect you nonetheless.

While it is not a literary genius, it is insightful beyond measure and it a beautiful depiction of... well... there I go again almost spoiling it.

Check it out at your local library and then after you read it, if you're anything like me, you'll have to then go buy it so you can mark it up and reread it.

Conceptually it is that good.

It will draw you out of yourself and into something bigger, something you could never put a finger on but knew to be true, something you could never articulate but always felt it on the tip of your tongue. It will draw you into its sacred space and return you changed.

Even if you don't ascribe to a higher power, you will probably find this book interesting (if you can make it through the disturbing plot line), and will probably be stretched as well.

As I read a borrowed copy last week, tomorrow I plan to head to BookPeople to buy my own copy for a second perusal. Check it out yourself...

The Shack By William P. Young

DNC

Wow. After three nights of watching the Democratic National Convention, I actually feel a little inspired and not so panicky.

I'm an anxious person. This is nothing new. One of my best friends in High School used to call me Annxiety. So when I think about America and the world today, I freak out a little.

I'm terrified that Georgia is going to shoot us spiraling into WWIII, I'm worried about where I'll move up north when global warming finally makes Texas heat unbearable. I'm nervous about crime with more and more people out of jobs and needing income from whatever source available. I'm struck by the poverty of where I currently live, the teen pregnancies, the drop-outs, the hookers on the corner and the people in wheelchairs at the stoplights. I remember working at Johnston High and I wonder where we'll be in ten years with the education system we have in America right now. I'm fearful of the gap between the rich and poor. I'm even afraid of losing my job and not having health care and then losing my house even though I know I'm not going to lose my job, but, you know, while we're worrying and everything, "what if..."

And I feel so helpless.

I don't even know how to help my immediate neighbors, let alone my country.

And I generally avoid getting too invested in politics because i worry about rhetoric and how deceitful it can be (i know, i know, i'm a preacher...). But I feel I'm never getting the full story and never know who to trust on the news. And how can we even trust the politicians themselves when they speak because it seems like there are always lies and cover-ups and stuff the public just can't know about?

But, being with my boyfriend who loves politics, I spent many hours watching the DNC this week. Whereas I'd probably just have caught Hillary, Bill, Al and Obama, if I were on my own, I found myself listening to many more - several soldiers, "common people," politicians, wives... it was interesting hearing their stories. Admittedly, while I have had reservations about Obama in the past (for many of the normal reasons), when I heard him speak and actually detail a bit about where he intends to go with his presidency, I actually began to believe him.

I believe him. And I believe in him.

And while I am still startled and scared about the statistics of our nation and world, maybe, just maybe, this is a step in the right direction. Maybe with Obama at the helm and all of us paddling at the stern we can do something. Or are we at the helm and Obama at the stern. Hmm. I know less about boating than I do about politics. But you get the idea.

It will be nice to have a leader we can look up to, and look over at, as we work out together what it looks like to live in this world today...

A Letter

Dear Hillary,

Hooray! I love you. Great job. You truly are a great leader worthy of all women's respect and awe. Thank you for paving the way.

I voted for Hillary the first time, but I'll be voting for Obama to be my president in November! I can't wait!

Peace,
ann

The Diaries of Adam & Eve

So I'm in play that Trinity Street Players (FBC's Theatre Troop) has produced. It's based on short stories by Mark Twain and is of course delightful. Titled, the Diaries of Adam and Eve, I play Eve :) I remember when my dad directed this play probably ten years ago. It's a great show and we're really proud of it. Already Thursday (and I think Friday) are sold out. So if you're in Austin, call 476-2625 to reserve your tickets for this Saturday at 8pm or Sunday at 2:30!

Directed by Dick Westerburg. David McCullars playing Adam. Other guest performances by Grant Hudson, Linda Miller Raff, Anna Taylor, Josh Houston and Jonathan Slocum.

PS - I don't know WHY the arm and the apple are blue. Something's wrong with my computer...

Number 467

This is my 467th blog post (minus one or two that I deleted or never posted). And the revelation of the week is... my parents are mortal.

I have come to terms with the fact that young people, sometimes even my friends, die and will someday die. Just this week at church, our community buried a 31 year old man.

I recognize that I will lose my pets, those companions who are my day in and day out family as a single young woman living 14 hours away from my closest relative.

But now I am wrestling with the fact... the fact... that I will someday lose my parents.

My father had a heart attack. Tuesday night the ER doctors put in a stint to open up the 99% blockage they found, and are currently assessing the damage done to the heart. Dr. Pittman, my younger sister, helps me understand it all.

My mom and dad were supposed to fly to visit me next Thursday. I'm in a play at church and they were going to come see it and see me and Austin. With the exception of one day after a wedding I attended in Missouri, I haven't seen my dad since Christmas and he hasn't been to visit Austin since last year. My mom makes it down more often, but even her I haven't seen since March. Needless to say, I'm sad. I'm sad because my dad is sick. I'm sad because my mom is stressed. I'm sad because my sisters and I are scared.

It's not that he had a heart attack. It's not the fact that he'll be missing me in a performance for the first time in 30 years, it's the realization that it won't always be the same. My mom and dad won't always be around to call up or brag to or joke with or miss terribly or buy presents for or vent to or reminisce with or be encouraged by...

On a cognitive level, I understand and accept this. But, emotionally, I am not ready. I am not ready to let go of my two best friends who have been by my side for 30 years, two months and 27 days.

Fortunately, I don't have to be. My dad is still with us, he's feeling good(ish), so they tell me, and we probably have many more years of memory making to do. (Insert prayer).

So while I'm sad, I remain thankful. And I do everything I can to distract myself from thinking about this new revelation and how scared and sad my dad must feel too. I go over to Cinda and David's (whose jobs are flexible enough to entertain their friend for an afternoon), I spend the night at the Nethercuts so it's feels like I'm with family. I clean the house to allow my subconscious to exert some sort of control over something, I invite people over to play cards and games, I even go to rehearsal though the last thing I want to do is think about a play...

And now, for the first time since I heard about what happened Tuesday night, I'm alone and it sucks. While I would love to put it eloquently and less vulgarly (hell, i don't even know if that's a word), I don't have it in me to write bravely and with inspiration.

It sucks.

It sucks.

And I hate it. There, I said it. I hate it. Just in case I haven't said it before, I hate it. I hate death and disease and illness and sin. I hate it all. That's why I don't watch the news, that's why I don't take the paper, that's why I don't go see scary movies. I hate it. I hate murder and rape and war and hatred and poverty and disease and all the sad sad things in the world that I, we, can't control.

I like life so much. I love life so much that when it is sad or corrupt, it hurts so bad.

And I'm hurting right now. And my dad is hurting and my mom is hurting and my sisters are hurting. And unfortunately, we're not the only ones.

(Although I might be the only one awake at 1:32 in the morning).

My peace I bring to you.
My peace I give you.
Peace, peace, please bring peace.
This is my prayer.
This is my prayer.

Amen.

What No One Ever Told Me... Cause No One Remembers

"I was baptized as an infant?!"

The first words out of my mouth when I called my mom on her cell at 10:30pm two nights ago.

After pulling up carpet in my back bedroom and putting down laminate floors, everything I had removed from the bedroom had to go back in. That's when I discovered the baptismal certificate pasted into the "religious events" page of my baby album which I had found and had been flipping through.

"I don't remember that..." my mom said, waking up and probably trying to discern why the hell I was calling to tell her this an hour and a half into her night's sleep.

"Well there's a certificate in my baby book that says otherwise," I informed her, indignant. "It has a minister's name and my name and the date. And it's glued in my baby book!"

Now, it should be noted that I have no problem with infant baptism. It is not a practice of my denomination, nor is it my preference for the baptism of a believer, but I understand what it symbolizes theologically and respect the tradition. But I'm also a baptist minister and I feel that knowing whether or not i was baptized as an infant and then re-baptized as a nine year old is fairly critical to my identity. I mean, this is my story, my life story, my story with God...

Everything I believed and knew to be true was now marked a lie! How could no one have told me this?!

Okay, i'm being melodramatic. But it was shocking and a little unnerving to say the least.

"Mike, do you remember that?" My mother inquired of my father who was now awake.
"No."
"You'd think a mother would remember her baby being baptized. I don't think it happened, Ann."
"Well, it's from Huffman United Methodist Church and I'm looking at the certificate with my name on it right now," I began to read the entire certificate over the phone.
"I'll ask Grandma tomorrow," Mother said. "Goodnight."

Huffman is my grandparents church. My parents began attending Wyatt Park Baptist when I was two (so they recalled). I'm not sure where they went before that...

Grandma doesn't think it happened either. Mom called me back the next day. And surely if your parents can't remember your grandparents would. Right?

So it's a mystery. Or a joke. Or just a really strange discovery.

But there's a baptismal certificate pasted into my baby book commemorating a day that apparently never happened, a covenant that never occurred.

And so the choice I made nine years later, confessing to my pastor that I loved God and wanted to be with God forever, stands. And the water that washed over me as I submerged, dying to myself and was then raised from, resurrected into a new life with Jesus Christ remains the most special and significant water I will ever enter. And though the Hydrogen and Oxygen compound is at it's most basic description just elements and numbers, it is a memory that is charged with symbolism, tradition and yes, something even magical. I left that pool of water changed - lighter, freer and even my nine-year-old heart and mind knew it.

The faith of a child... No wonder Jesus always said let the children come to me...

Thanks be to God.

Now let's see... why would i have been awakened at 7am this morning (having been awakened just two hours earlier for the same reason).

Oh that's right, my cat, Potter who wakes me up EVERY morning.

Except this morning when i went to push him away i discovered he was covered in tar.

Oh. My. God.

I remember that book Briar Rabbit from when I was a child. My grandma had it at her house and I used to like reading it every time i went over. I remember feelings of good and evil, right and wrong attached to that book. I'll have to reread it now as an adult to rediscover what was so compelling in it.

But not now. Now I have to get this oily tar-ry crap off my cat.

I tried baby wipes. I wiped and wiped and wiped and filled up the bathroom trash can.

I called the vet.

Um... yeah... hi. This is Ann Pittman calling about my cat, Potter, he seems to have gotten in some... um... tar. Can you help me?

They returned the call when their office opened and had two suggestions: shave the cat and vegetable oil. I chose the latter. Actually the nurse chose the latter. Since the tar was primary on Potter's head, neck and paws, shaving would prove difficult (head and paws). So she suggested soaking him in vegetable oil and then cleaning him with soap and water.

Water.

Potter's never had a bath.

It was awful.

Fortunately, he liked the baby wipes, he didn't even seem to mind the vegetable oil. He purred and swooned and must have thought he was at the spa until i turned on the faucet and tried to dunk him under it.

For not having front claws, I sure am bleeding a lot.

The dog started barking, Zorba took off in fear; the noises coming out of Potter about gave me a fright. So i called in the troops. Johnson was at my house by now (he's putting in a new floor in my back room) and together we attempted the impossible.

Operation Wash Potter.

It was a sad but necessary process and I left him in the bathroom to tend to his "wounds" (wet fur). I cleaned up my wounds (literal) and washed my beautiful, white, soft, 30-year-old-birthday-present sheets twice to get the tar off them from where Potter had initially pounced.

And I tried to go back to bed... on the couch... with a spare blanket. But nothing came of it.

It's going to be one of those days.

Tonight's Beresheth Sermon

I tend to shy away from descriptions of Jesus as sacrificial. It makes me think of blood and dead lambs and the ego-centric “if you were the only person on earth, Jesus would have died for you” nonsense that musically lame and theologically inept praise choruses of the eighties and nineties and televangelists tend to communicate about God.

I don’t like it.

But this weekend I was reminded that indeed, Jesus led a very sacrificial life. And I was reminded of this in a love story.

Lisa moved to Kenya some time after we graduated from college to work for the International Justice Mission. While there, she met a Liberian man. Although they share her native language (his being a tribal Liberian dialect), communication is still trying at times, but despite their differences, they fell in love. The true test for Lisa though, came a year or so later when Eddie was offered his dream job... in Liberia. He would probably be placed in a village, probably without internet, with cell reception only from the top of a hill in the town. Lisa was happy about this amazing opportunity for him, but after he told her about the job offering she cried and cried. This would the turning point in their relationship - would she move to a country devastated (but recovering) from war, a place with limited resources, poor health care, and bad food? Would she move to a place like that where she had no job? Further away from family and even friends she had made in Kenya? Would she trust God through this? And that's when she realized it was, as she said, "true love." When they talked on the phone later about the situation, Eddie began and said, "I'm not taking the job. It's too risky for us. We wouldn't be able to communicate very often and I can't do that to us." And that's when Lisa learned that both of them had come to the same conclusion - that they were willing to give it all up for the other person. Indeed she was experiencing true love. “And love,” she told me “is a sacrifice. It’s modeled in the personhood of Jesus Christ and it should be modeled in the way we love each other.”

Sacrifice. That’s a hard word for me in general. Apart from Little Bo Peep’s dead sheep on the altar, sacrifice as lifestyle is a hard one to live by. I want a good job and a healthy marriage and a happy home and nice neighbors. I want to take vacations to exotic places and go to the theatre often and out a pool in my backyard. I’d love to own a hybrid car and my own home and maybe someday even a second home on a beach or lake somewhere or maybe in the mountains. Not an extravagant lifestyle, but a good one. But probably not one that anyone would call sacrificial.

But what Lisa was talking about – while it did mean sacrificing basic living conditions (electricity for one) what she described was more a sacrifice of self – of wants and desires – because of loving someone else.

So I started to wonder what sacrifice in our spirituality really means. What does it mean when in Romans 12 Paul writes, “Offer yourselves up as living sacrifices.” Obviously not a literal imperative but one that reminded me of other metaphors… Jesus told Nicodemis that “no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” Again, playing on the idea similar to sacrifice, of letting go of something, and to the born again metaphor, a definite change element is added. In all three synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke) Jesus is quoted as saying, “Whoever wants to save his life will lose it and whoever loses his life for me will find it.”

Those images of sacrifice, rebirth, and losing and finding life remind me of the lyrics in the song written by Alanis Morisette that we sang at the earlier in the service. “Reborn and shivering. Spat out on new terrain… Day One, Day One, start over again. Step one. Step one. I’m barely making sense.”

Surely you’ve been there before. In a new city, at a new college, at a new job, in a new relationship and you’re feeling your way along, seemingly blind at first because of the newness and unfamiliarity of the situation.

If you haven’t been there before, just wait, you will be.

As I listen to the imagery in that song, I am reminded of scenes of “rebirth,” if you will, in biblical stories. There’s Adam and Eve in the Garden and then there’s Adam and Eve feeling their way around outside the Garden. There’s Hagar and Ishmael having been cast out of Abraham’s tribe to fend and provide for themselves alone in the desert and eventually in Egypt. There’s Joseph in jail, having already been through slavery and falling in and out of the good graces of the people around him, now wondering where life will take him or how to even make a life for himself in jail. There’s Jonah, humiliated, but alive (having been spit out of a fish) struggling to embrace a wider theology. There’s Mary, pregnant and alone with a story no one was going to believe. What would life look like with that magical but terrifying news? There’s Paul, the Christian-hater, now confessing Christ alongside people he’d sought to execute.

So many life-changing experiences but experiences meant to be explored with God. Told with God who indeed is one of the main characters and has been all along. Suddenly being spat out on new terrain, naked and alone before God begins to make sense to me. Apart from the Just Me and Jesus, individualistic, selfish, all-about-me-Christianity that I loathe, on some level I realize that at some point it comes down to just us and God. It’s not a faith our parents pass on to us in their wills. It’s not dowry gift received from a marriage. It’s an experience, a relationship between you and your creator. And regardless of whether or not there is a blinding light that leaves you panicked and passed out in the street, you will leave your encounter with God changed.

Changed. Reborn. Day One, Day One, Start over again. Having given up your life, you receive new life. And you are changed. And this change affects your very being. While it may not change your vocation, it changes who you are in the workplace. While it may not change your major, it changes how you use the knowledge you gain. People aren’t just people anymore, they’re children of God. Talent isn’t just being good at something now, it’s a gift to be shared. Money doesn’t have the same meaning. Everything may stay the same, but everything changes too because now God is in it. Now God is in you! Now God asks you to offer yourself up as a living sacrifice: to tithe, so a community of faith can function; to vote so that all may experience equality, to share so that the widows and orphans are not left alone, to love so that everyone may know God’s love, to forgive - even your enemies, to speak up for injustice even when it’s unpopular, to be faithful even when hedonism feels so good.

It changes you. It changes the way you interact even with the people sitting next to you tonight. Everything changes when you encounter God. And if God isn’t real to you, if you don’t start off empty, alone, naked, and acknowledging that you are nothing without God, you miss the life. Unless you lose it, you’ll never find it.

No wonder the gate is narrow. Who wants to sit exposed in all of their un-splendor admitting “I can’t do this alone, nor do I want to.”? For people in trauma, it’s easy to see what’s relative, what’s imperative, what is essential. In traumatic situations, the excess strips away and only what matters is left. So it’s often feels easier even amidst the pain for someone in crisis to realize that really nothing matters apart from loving God and loving each other. For the rest of us who sit on our comfy couches, with our good grades and our distinguished degrees and successful jobs and relatively happy families, it’s easier to be blindsighted by these essentially good things, by the good life. But if we stood blinking in the sun, startled and staring truly at our ability to live abundantly, starting freshly with that mind-boggling grace that changes everything, where would we go? How would we live?

How would we change? Who would we be?

Naturally, we would live in empowering understanding and humble gratitude - as if we really got a second chance, a second birth, a newly gained life… given through sacrifice, to be lived sacrificially.

Amen.

Love and Marriage

Wow. I learned a lot about love this weekend.

First off, Julie got married. This in and of itself it a miracle. Like myself, having been through a plethora of failed relationships, one can get to the point where one wonders... what if...

But Julie is in love. And not like I've ever seen her before. Her and Michael's first dance was amazing. Amazing. Hands down, out of all the weddings I've ever been in, sung at, officiated or attended, this couple wins for best first dance. With his hands on her back in a tender embrace, Julie kept clutching his neck and resting her head in his chest. "I'm so happy," I saw her whisper at one point. It was beautiful. Then when Julie and her dad danced, their song was the father daughter song from the musical Beauty and the Beast and it was so awesome watching her and her father singing the words to each other as they danced. Julie and Merlin always had a very silly but loving relationship.

And was she ever a beautiful bride. Holy cow.

It was a great wedding because so many of my (and Julie's) worlds came together all at once. Julie and I shared much of our adult life attending the same college, the same seminary, being in Baptist circles and churches. So there were friends there from Jewell, Truett, and the CBF all there. 12 years of friendships. It was especially fun to be back together with Lisa, Stacey and Laura for most of the weekend.

And this is where I learned my second lesson about love.

Lisa moved to Kenya some time after we graduated from college to work for the International Justice Mission. While there, she met a Liberian man. ALthough they share her native language (his being a tribal Liberian dialect), communication is still trying at times, but despite their differences, they fell in love. The true test for Lisa though, came a year or so later when Eddie was offered his dream job... in Liberia. He would probably be placed in a village, probably without internet, with cell reception only from the top of a hill in the town. Lisa was happy about this amazing opportunity for him, but after he told her about the job offering she cried and cried. This would the turning point in their relationship - would she move to a country devastated (but recovering) from war, a place with limited resources, poor health care, and bad food? Would she move to a place like that where she had no job? Further away from family and even friends she had made in Kenya. Would she trust God through this? And that's when she realized it was, as she said, "true love." When they talked on the phone later about the situation, Eddie began by saying, "I'm not taking the job. It's too risky for us. We wouldn't be able to communicate very often and I can't do that to us." And that's when Lisa learned that both of them had come to the same conclusion - that they were willing to give it all up for the other person. True love.

Normally I hate that sappy shit. But listening to Lisa talk about life in Liberia and watching Julie who has experienced so many hardships in love come to a place of complete commitment was informative at the least and inspiring at the best.

Maybe it really happens. Maybe. It's hard to write about love, but to see it being told and experienced by your friends, friends who you know and trust and love... well, it becomes a little more real, tangible. Not a romantic date or a sexual encounter or a fairy tale idealism or a rite of passage, but a journey, deliberately, carefully chosen, embraced with someone that your love. You love. Love enough to sacrifice for. A relationship both people are so invested in, they would give it all up for the well-being of that unity.

Maybe that's why even our relationship with God is characterized in the expressions of faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

Ah Waco... I'm back here for Julie's wedding.

I have a love/hate relationship with this city.

That's all i have to say right now...

You Go Girl!

One of my FAVORITE people, here's an article on her new gluten-free cupcake business! (And this is us as kids). Congrats Andee!

EW!

There is a cockroach...waterbug...THING on my kitchen floor. I found it there at 4am when i couldn't sleep and went to the kitchen to do laundry. it was on it's back still wiggling it's wirey legs. I hate cockroaches or anything resembling them. Just last week I swore if I ever found a cockroach in my house I would move out.

Do you know how many other things I've sworn about?...

I'll never live in Texas.
I'll never work in a church.
I'll never get a dog.

I'm too afraid to say the rest of the list out loud...

The cockroach is still on the floor.

The deal with roommates has always been, you pick up the cockroach, i'll pick up the snake or spider or mouse or whatever. UGH. I have no roommate. She moved out last week. I have no boyfriend either which makes the situation even trickier. And with the price of gas now, no willing soul would drive over here to pick it up for me.

DAMNIT!

The little bug lived for a good two or three hours after I first found it. I felt just the tinsiest bit bad about that, but not enough to end it's life. Usually when I find wounded lizards the cats or dog have brought in that are still alive, I don't have the heart to kill them either. But I do gently pick them up and set them outside so they may die at least in their natural habitat. I love reptiles.

The only mercy I've ever showed any cockroaches were the ones I watched on Enchanted. When Giselle sings and all the city "animals" come help her clean house, I guffawed. But my affection for those cocky cleaners was still coupled with nervous collar tugging. Gross. Cockroaches cleaning? Funny, but gross.

Now if I could just figure out how to clean up my cockroach...

Another Magazine Arrives

Okay seriously people... American Handgunner?

Could I hate anything more than cooking and guns? My roommate says, "You hate porn..." so yes, I guess, it could be worse.

Are you an average reader?

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. Well, let's see.
1) Bold the books you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Star the books you're reading/have read some of.
5) Copy, paste, & repeat.

I only bolded and starred cause I got tired of guessing whether or not I would REALLY get around the reading the books. And I got frustrated trying to decide if I LOVED the book or just really liked it. :) So I've only done 1 and 4 in the requested list. (I did parenthetically note if I've seen the movie). Even with those two though, it appears I am above average. But certainly not close to the 100 mark...

1 Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen (seen the movie)
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien (seen the movie)
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling * (seen the movie)
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell *
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott (seen the movie)
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller *
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (seen the movie)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll (seen the movie)
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy *
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis. * (seen the movie)
34 Emma - Jane Austen (seen the movie)
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (seen the movie)
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy*
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck (seen the movie)
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding (seen the movie)
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett (seen the movie, listened to the musical)
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray (seen the movie)
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens (seen the movie and musical)
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White (seen the movie)
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery-
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas *
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare (seen the movie)
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl (seen the movie)
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo * (seen the movie and musical)

Hope...

We’ve been hearing a lot about hope and change in the media recently have we not? Every politician walks a fine line between guaranteeing change and offering hope while maintaining the integrity of reality.

Reality is a war in the middle east coupled with impending war against several other nations. Hope is bringing home the troops, peace talks that bring about peace, and restful, civil nations.

Reality is continual increases in teen pregnancy – 13, 14, 15, 16 year old mothers and fathers. Hope is higher self-esteem, healthier perspectives on sexuality, a decrease in pornography use, and safe sex or abstinence.

Reality is flooding in the Midwest along the Mississippi. Reality is fires in the West. Reality is parts of the south still suffering from Katrina and Rita. Hope is a government that is prepared for Mother Nature’s attacks, more relief workers and financial aid, provisions for the poor who can’t make a comeback, a deeper respect for our environment, and heeding the warnings of global warming.

We hear a lot about hope and change and sometimes it’s hard to swallow all that when we face reality every day.

And reality isn’t just about facts and figures and statistics and status-quo. Reality isn’t just economics and politics and environments. Reality is how we feel and what we think and how we will make it through the uncertainty of each day when our turn comes in the game of life. How do we manage delighting in the daylight with fears that come with nightfall? That’s reality too – the untangible reality – the feeling of awe at the birth of a child, the assumption of responsibility when peering into a Grand Canyon, the power of peace when peering at all the stars and solar systems in the evening sky.

But with much beauty comes much fear. So what’s the point of hope?

Is it just to make us feel better? Is hope the prozac of our spiritual angst? Is it the spoonful of sugar that helps the medicine go down? Is hope what causes people in Pentecostal churches to jump up and down and fall over laughing? Is hope what keeps people giving to charity when we know we “will always have the poor” among us? Is hope what keeps us saying our prayers at night and doing meditations in the morning and yoga after work? Is hope what keeps us out of hell?

Well… yes.

Yes, yes, I’m not sure about the hell thing, and yes.

Because I think once we claim hope, once we agree with God that rescue is coming, that soon we will be done, and we warn the world to watch for us coming, this hope, this desire for change, for salvation, this hope becomes in us not an esoteric idea to be discussed in theology class, but a real, living, potentially-tangible, but certainly unexplainable something inside us. While Hebrews 11:1 tells us that faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see, at some point I believe that hope hope goes from being a concept to something concrete. Something we don’t understand but something we can feel.

God loves us. Hope has come.
We can make a difference. Hope has come.

Hope became Human. Something about God becoming a man, God becoming one of us, makes hope tangible. And some of us got to touch it. Some of us got to see the face of God incarnate, look into the eyes, touch the garment of the cloak, feel the wounds, wash the feet with tears, some of us were there. And the rest of us have the great stories God left for us. And we have the Spirit that moves in us and reminds us that hope has come.

Hope has come.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

So jump. Shout. Scream. Laugh. Cry. Study hard in school. Get involved in politics. Volunteer to help out in your community. Pay your taxes. Give even more money away willingly. Forgive your enemies. Pray for peace. Practice safe sex. And for the love of God, tell your friends about the hope you have in Jesus Christ. Tell your story of hope…

Frederick Buechner writes, “For Christians, hope is ultimately hope in Christ. The hope that he really is what for centuries we have been claiming he is. The hope that despite the fact that sin and death still rule the world, he somehow conquered them. The hope that in him and through him all of us stand a chance of somehow conquering them too. The hope that at some unforeseeable time and in some unimaginable way he will return with healing in his wings.”

Amen.

Theta Iota Rho...

Not many women probably say that they received a muumuu for their thirtieth birthday.

But I can.

Tonight, my roommate and I were lured to a friend's house under the pretense that said friend wanted to invite her Reverend friends over and discuss how one can help further the call of female ministers.

Ugh. A really busy week, but okay. I agreed to go to this a long time ago. So, we were off.

When we arrived, two other friends (non-reverends) were getting out of their car. This should have perhaps tipped me off. It didn't. I mean, don't most experts in Congolese government want to discuss women in ministry?

"Can I take your purse?" our host said. "No thanks, we're just heading off to have dinner anyway, I'll just keep it."

She took all the other purses to the back room.

Once inside, we waited for the third reverend to show up and when she did, I expected that we would be off. Instead we all just sat looking at our host who was exchanging glances with two other women in the room. "Should we tell them?" she asked.

The four of us not involved in the eye exchange (the three reverends and the Congo expert) exchanged glances of our own.

As it turned out, the four of us were not invited over to discuss the future of women in ministry (or to play dominoes as African Queen was told), rather we were invited by our "sisters" to celebrate belatedly, our thirtieth birthdays. Yep, All four of us had turned 30 within a month of each other and the sisters thought that rather than let us wallow in misery, they would invite us into the sisterhood of the over-thirty and offer their wisdom to us, and yes, initiate us into their club.

No wonder they took away the purses. They held our car keys and thus our means of escape. And as our hosts scurried into the back room to get ready for whatever they were up to, we realized I still had mine. "Hide it. We might need it!"

Now, I can't tell you all the workings of the Sisterhood, they're secret you know, but suffice it to say, we four initiates received "robes," wisdom, and even a plaque. We sang songs, were advised on crow's feet and encouraged to do something monumental and challenging in honor of this year, like say, run a marathon... riiiiiight.

But, truth be told, our friends made the thirties look really good. And for all the guffawing, we had some serious moments too: failure comes in this decade, unfulfilled expectations, health issues... It was a very tender, insightful time.

And afterwards, we all stood in a circle with arms crossed (right over left) holding on to each other's pinkies and heard that great poem by Jones (i think) about growing old and wearing purple. I love that poem.

And then we went to Luby's.

In the muumuus.

O god.

At least we wouldn't run into anyone we knew at Luby's. That was for sure.

But we still got plenty of looks. And two little kids who were leaving as we were coming, turned around and went out a different door. Geez. Did we look that bad?

Yes. Yes we did. Muumuu should be spelled Moo-Moo because most of us looked like fat cows. (I say most because one of us was granted a muumuu that was actually okay save for the wings underneith the armpits and one actually owned a muumuu and it was cute on her too).

Needless to say, I will not be posting pictures.

But thank god for surprise parties and friends and turning thirty.

This will be the best decade yet...

Beresheth Tonight

“Live into the paradox,” my professor in seminary used to say. I’m pretty sure we were arguing about free will juxtaposed with God’s providence. The old “did God make me do it?” question. Or it could have been a discussion over the fine line between works and faith. Fruit and no fruit. How salvation by grace works with a God who says you can tell who loves God by their fruit … but works don’t save you.

Tricky. Very tricky.

“I got your paradox right here…” I used to mumble beneath my breath. Such confusing conversations. No wonder theologians are always pictured with grey hair and spectacles, it’s maddening thinking about all these confusing topics and going around and around and around about them with your colleagues. And it’s not like they pulled this theological stuff out of thin air. I mean, it’s in the Bible. Most of these conversations are based on conversations that take place in the Bible. What do we interpret this story? What did Jesus mean by this? What is Paul saying when he wrote that?

“To lose your life is to find it” – please! “The last shall be first.” What does that even mean?

And beyond Jesus’ metaphors and hyperboles and parables, there are other confusing parts of our Christian faith too. I was trying to encourage myself yesterday by writing scripture down in a notebook when I should have been listening to a lecture when I realized I didn’t believe what I was writing. “You shall mount up on wings as eagles, you shall run and not grow weary, you shall walk and not grow faint.” While often embossed on a pillow or hung on your bathroom wall, this verse I discovered as I was re-writing it in my journal does not make me feel better. And why? Because I feel tired; I feel faint. Because I don’t feel like an eagle in the sky, I feel like the little rat on the ground that the beautiful, hungry eagle is about to swoop down and eat!

And as for prayer. O Lord! “Ask and ye shall receive” is about the biggest load of bullock I’ve ever heard. Everyone knows that prayer doesn’t work like that. There’s no formula, no guarantee. And unless we’re privileged in society, we usually end up disappointed anyway. And what if God doesn’t even want our petitions? What if that’s not what prayer is about? Why did Jesus say that then? Ask and ye shall receive…

And we’re back again to the mystery of God. For the ones that love God are not guaranteed an easy run of it. We aren’t all eagles flying freely in the sky. Some of us are stuck in a rut, in the valley… You’d think that a God who loved you might shower a little grace down your way. Living in poverty, getting a divorce, failing Chemistry, not finding a job, battling anorexia, wrecking your car, getting your girlfriend pregnant, losing your home, fighting addiction, dealing with depression – for the joy of the Lord being our strength, sometimes this world sure is hard.

I’m just saying…

But I suppose it’s at this point that all my know-it-all, goody-two-shoes Christian acquaintances would say, “Well, God only gives you what you can handle and while you may not feel like you see God’s grace in your life – you don’t know what God’s saving you from right this very minute! His grace is sufficient.” I know it’s sufficient theoretically… theologically… but that doesn’t mean I’m having a good day!” I want to scream back. “All I’m saying is that if God loves me He might want to shower me, His beloved child, with blessings or something! At least a boyfriend!”

Ah, but I am ridiculous and God is mysterious. And yes, life is hard. And I will have the same run of the mill life as you with or without God. It’s just that I get to go with God.

Some people may tell you the world is black and white, but don’t believe them. It’s grey. In fact, it’s better than grey, its chalk full of colors blending and mixing and complimenting and sometimes turning brown.

Our God is a mysterious God and She will not be boxed in, nor will She allow herself to get all figured out by some small-minded Americans.

I’m working out my faith right now. I admit it. Doug talked about tension in scripture last night at Midweek Moorings and I’m having a heck of a time in my personal life right now and sometimes the only confession I can get out of my mouth from my very weak but trying-to-be-faithful heart is, “God is mysterious, and I love Her.”

And I will try to walk humbly with God. I will believe in an amazing God that I don’t understand, an ancient text that I don’t always relate to and a Holy Spirit that I can’t always follow.

And I will live into the paradox, despite my desperate need for stability. And I will love God. Love the mystery of God. Love Jesus who oddly enough is God incarnate. Love the Spirit who breathes new life in me when I never deserve it.

Amazing grace.

I Hate Hail

Hail damage on car: $800+. Deductible: $1000. Getting your car repaired: No.

Hail damage on roof (but only on the metal tubes) $400+. Deductible: $1000. Getting your metal tubes repaired: No.

Hail damage on kitchen window: $160. Window coverage: $100. Getting your window replaced: Yes with the $100 check they wrote me. Does anyone know where I can get a new window for under $100?

Hail damage to tree in front yard: no clue. Insurance coverage: None. Getting the big ol' broken branch out of the tree: No idea. Any suggestions? No, a ladder won't reach it.

As if the hail storm weren't stressful enough with the sound and the trees falling and thinking I'd lost Zorba in the storm, crying and not sleeping all night, none of the damage to my "stuff" was "bad enough" to do anything except lose me money. I guess I should be thankful there wasn't more damage done. Except that the damage done isn't getting fixed cause I'm not paying for it all by myself. Which means my car and my house and my life are getting more ghetto by the minute.

Whatever.