Fun recent pictures

Karina & I being awesome on a random Assateague road. She moved back to Brazil, which I find a depressing happening myself. Brazil trip anyone?


The lakehouse dam. Need I say more?
















Fancy Dinner. That means we dress up, act inappropriately and pretend to be adult.

Hot bride. Hot bridesmaids. Good times.

And since I'm in the mood, a bit of Ani Defranco:

I'm not trying to give my life meaning by demeaning you

and I would like to state for the record

I did everything that I could do

I'm not saying that I'm a saint

I just don't want to live that way

no, I will never be a saint

but I will always say

squint your eyes and look closer

I'm not between you and your ambition

I am a poster girl with no poster

I am thirty-two flavors and then some

And I'm beyond your peripheral vision

So you might want to turn your head

Cause someday you might find you're starving

and eating all of the words you said.

Mirror

Reading Bible, talking to God, listening for God. It equates. Renewed realization of how He touches me, of who I should be, of who I am not. But also, of who He is.

I met with a friend the other night and we talked about all sorts of things. One of the main things I walked away with from the conversation was how I saw my sin in her. I don't remember having such a reflective moment with someone before, as I judge her actions and realize mine are the same. And play by play comparison is silly and senseless, but the realization that our motivation, our heart behind it was the same, that is biting. And I was not as much ashamed of her, upset about her, but surprised at what I am.

I was waiting in my car a few days later, leaned against the seat, the precious free time donated to my journal conveniently present. Pen hovered slightly over the page. I tried to describe it. This awakening, this knowledge that my words ring hollow, my actions a scar. My expression of it was so lame. When I was thinking intensely on my long drive that day all I could picture was some creature, gargoyle-like. Black, scaly. Sickenly addictive. And the eyes are souless. Souless as I gaze at them and don't care. But really, it is me. The one to make the decisions, the actions. The figure in my head is hidden in my heart. And I mourn my denial of it, my slow sliding into ignorance, oblivion of a life to a higher calling. I cried, as the rain fell in sheets around my car, dancing on the steaming hood, tapping hello on the sunroof. Just cried for the mistakes made, the mistakes she will make, the ones I will, the need I have for this ugly thing I love.

We can rejoice that God looks to us now, to the future, not the past. But what about the people that have seen, that know I have nothing to stand on. No righteous life, no Christlike action. Just me, me and my little gargoyle that reaches through and charms my will. He forgives us. He doesn't erase our consequences.

This isn't well written, nor probably in any way theologically accurate.

I have spent the night wrapped in a "sheet-dress," playing hide and seek in the dark, drinking wine and debating the merits of zig vs. zag. I am exhausted.

But I am also exhausted of many things. And change is step after step.

Tonight I took a step, a tiny step. May many more follow

* Happy Sigh *

My past two weeks:

I camped and hiked in West Virginia. I'm bug-bitten.
I hung out in DC trying amazing different kinds of beer. I'm poor.
I mountain biked in Germantown. I'm bruised and have a swollen ankle.
I hung out at the Atlantic in Ocean City. I'm burnt.

I LOVE SUMMER.

Cool Story. Good writing. I want to see the exhibit!

Natural History Museum Fulfills a Scholar's Dying Wish: His Skeleton Is on Exhibit as a Teaching Specimen

Mountains

Yesterday after working I headed to Target for black pants and left with saltine crackers, chocolate milk and foot lotion. And no black pants. But that's not the point. The point was that as I left Target, at a high point of the area, the sky was amazing. The type of amazing where you cannot tell if the masses in front of you are clouds or mountains. It made me think of when I went to Denver in high school. We landed at dusk, and as we rode away from the airport towards the mountains, I couldn't tell if the silent, jagged blocks in front of us were clouds or masses of land. Turns out they were mountains, not the clouds I had expected in my western Michigan mindset. Last night was an odd experience, my brain kept playing tricks on me as I drove home. It was a familiar path, familiar landmarks. But the skyline, the skyline was massive, like the Rocky's with the sky faintly glimmering gold above... in Frederick. It was an odd thing to see-- so utterly believable, yet obviously not true.

I love mountains. Someone told me once people are naturally mountain people or ocean people. I rejected the thought, not liking the idea of limiting oneself to claim only one of the amazing things God created. I love the ocean, I love the mountains. I love it all! Doesn't everyone? But maybe I am a mountain person. They make my heart soar. My lips crack into a smile when driving along the Appalachians. When visiting Leen in Utah I squealed at the scene out her living room window. And in Denver they took my breath away. They capture my attention, my fascination. I want to climb them to see what they see when they look down on me. I want to know what it feels like to hop on their boulders, slide down their slopes, crest their top to see beyond. I love them. So driving that 8 minutes home, I fancifully trained my brain to accept the scene before it as true. "Look God," I thought. "You're giving me mountains." I wanted to take a picture, but knew it wouldn't turn out well, the scope, the believability of the scene would not translate. So I just drove with one eye on the road, the other to the horizon, feeling comforted and unexplicably hopeful about the future, a small jog up in my recently dampened mood.

Then I parked my car, took my saltine crackers, chocolate milk and foot lotion into my apartment, and my mountains blew away with the wind.

I woke up sad today. So I thought I should read Psalms. Of course, it matters what part of Psalms (murder anyone?), but I thought I'd find a Psalm that spoke of desparation and God's faithfulness and deliverance. Because in my sad mood, that was desired. And needed.

I thought I would like Psalm 120 this morning. So I turned to 120. And liked it, and kept reading. And I reached Psalm 125:2:

As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds His people, from this time forth and forevermore.

I smiled. How lovely.

Panic

Pure panic. I had my taxes done today at a volunteer program, free for those with low income. "Low income" here is considered under $40,000. HA HA HA! I grew up with the impression that if you made $40,000 a year, you were doing dang well. You bought brand name toothpaste. You didn't have peas, potatoes and milk for dinner every night when peas were in season. And you probably owned more than one TV.

Well, it suffices to say, I will not see the light of $40,000 in, ohhh, 38 years at the rate I am going. Which leads me to the title of this post... panic. Somehow, somewhere I must have filled out something wrong and not withheld enough. Making what I currently owe the IRS roughly two and a half weeks of work. "Don't panic," I told myself. "You can do this."

So I held back my tears in the office, broke down on my walk back to work, hid in the staircase waiting to look like my life wasn't falling apart, then sat listlessly at my desk attempting to care about what was in front of me. Then some more crying when I got home from work. Some more panicking. Some more feeling like this yawning gap of my financial situation was hopeless. Get a third job? Sell my eggs? Move into a box? Then again, feeling hopeless. I'm careful with my money. I work hard. And I feel like I never make progress. Student loans, electricity, food. I get paid and it all disappears, going negative.

So, "Think, think." I tell myself. Where is a spirit of thankfulness? Where is an eternal perspective? This is not the end of the world.

I love my job. I love my job tens times more than most people that make twice the money I do. I feel purpose and joy in it. I have an awesome apartment for an abnormally small price for its stellar location. I have two jobs when many people have none. Great family. I have a generous boyfriend who will let me borrow the money to pay my taxes and pay back interest free. I have friends willing to do free things, to meet for dessert instead of dinner. I hike after work, pour wine and get paid, dance on a regular basis. I have this and I have that and I have so much. Life is good.

So I'm going to go to bed right now and not worrying. Because it will do nothing. I will trust that God has my back. I'll know that there is purpose in this. I lack in trust, and restraint, that I need to build. I will not dissolve into tears when my head hits the pillow. That gets me nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.

And I'm changing my W-4's come tomorrow.

Fool me once IRS, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

We are no good at not loving each other

I am not sure the coffee shop behind my apartment is a coffee shop. Well, just a coffee shop. Nightly deliveries from a huge truck. How much coffee do these people go through? If there's heroine in those grounds someday, I'm here to say I knew it first.

I think I want to start writing again. Like, creatively. I haven't for so long. Fell out of the habit? I am the same person under this shifting skin of experience and growth. I have the same thoughts. I forget what it's like to conduct them to the ground.

This is the first time in a long time I am in Maryland on a weekend and don't have work. Well, actually, I did tonight, but that's over. And now-- nothing! Nothing scheduled. Things loosely scheduled, but nothing scheduled. Oh glorious. And it's supposed to be glorious out. I'll search Goodwill for pretty glass to shatter to glue to canvas, I'll expirement with my crock pot, fish out the remains on my Halloween grass skirt (for Halloween 2007) from my trunk (poor car), I'll argue with health insurance and cable. And I'll sit in a bookstore. Maybe I'll wander downtown alone a bit. I've become quite horrible at being alone. It's a skill I think I must obtain once again.

Had my first really bad haircut ever on Wednesday. Ah vanity... I have it. Lots of it. I'm a female trying to "grow my hair out." When you do not listen to me, and chop a good deal of it off to fashion me into a 1996 Jennifer Aniston look-alike, I will go out to my car and cry. And cry the next day. And the next. And build up the courage to call and ask for someone to fix it and inform the receptionist in a tremulous voice that "I do not trust her. Please... someone else." Crying over hair? Oh my. I do have work to do.

Zumba= one of the best workout classes ever. Take sexy dance moves, throw it in with 50-year-old men, some pre-teen girls, and a mix of women in their 20's and 30's, and you get a lot of hopping, smiling, and laughing. Oh, and sweat. Lots of sweat. I love sweat. Makes me feel like I'm doing something. So does wiggling my hips in outrageous ways.

I kicked off my Angie-wandering-about weekend with a viewing of "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2" with Katie. I was a girl throughout the movie, smiling like an idiot for the handsome man's line of "We are no good at not loving each other... " Oh swoon. I may sound mocking, but take me seriously, I was smiling. Broadly. Oh, to have that assurance. That backdrop. Those lines.

And.

I would like to lift my drooping hands and stengthen my weak knees (Hebrews 12:12).