And my soul wells up with hallelujahs.

As I type this I am on a plane heading to Texas.  I haven’t been home since Christmas, so needless to say I’m a little jazzed.  The plan was to use these couple hours to get through at least one more chapter of assigned reading for my Christian Theology intensive class coming up in a few weeks.  (I’ve read/taken notes over 3 … out of 37.)  However, as the plane began to take off and I looked out my window to see Lake Michigan just beyond the Chicago skyline, I was just a little overwhelmed.  I always try to pick a window seat whenever I fly because how often is one privileged with such a view?  Skyline, lake, clouds, Midwestern farmland, whatever … I soak it in.  As we ascended further into the immaculate brightness of clouds that wouldn’t allow me to glance out the window for more than a couple seconds, my heart began to sing the words of a chorus I haven’t thought of in years.

And my soul wells up with hallelujahs.

As soon as the pilot gave the okay for electronic devices, I pulled out my laptop to find the song that upon playing sounded like an old friend.  As we rose above the clouds I could once again look out my window and sing (albeit silently … although I may have been humming; I’m not sure) along with Chris,

“Oh praise him all his mighty works,
There is no language where you can’t be heard,
Your song goes out to all the earth,
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah”

This beautiful meditation on general revelation then called to mind another song, this one a bit more in recent memory.  Last Sunday began a sermon series on animals at my church in Glen Ellyn, and at the close we sang one of my favorite hymns.  It’s just too good to only quote a line or two, so you get the whole thing … best lines bolded.  Perhaps you can worship along with me as you read or even sing.  Happy 4th of July, friends.  The Lord is King, let the heavens ring.  God reigns, let the earth be glad.

This Is My Father’s World

This is my Father’s world
And to my listening ears
All nature sings and round me rings
The music of the spheres

This is my Father’s world
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas
His hands the wonders wrought

This is my Father’s world
The birds their carols raise
The morning light, the lily white
Declare their Maker’s praise

This is my Father’s world
He shines in all that’s fair
In the rustling grass, I hear him pass
He speaks to me everywhere

This is my Father’s world
Oh let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong
God is the Ruler yet

This is my Father’s world
The battle is not done
Jesus who died shall be satisfied
And heaven and earth be one

This is my Father’s world
Why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King, let the heavens ring
God reigns, let the earth be glad

Hosanna

Hosanna.  It’s a churchy word.  Perhaps you’ve heard it today, being Palm Sunday and all.  I’ve never really liked the word, mostly because I identify it with some really cheesy praise choruses.  I’ve heard it as an exclamation, like “Glory!” or “Hallelujah!”, and I figure most people don’t even know what they’re saying.  It wasn’t until a few months ago that I developed an appreciation for the word, and over the past couple days that it has become my own cry.

I wrote last about my upcoming impromptu trip to Indiana for the Andrew Peterson Resurrection Letters Easter tour.  Back in October, however, some friends and I heard him play a free show a tad bit closer (only about 30 minutes away) promoting his latest album entitled “Resurrection Letters, Vol. 2.”  He played through the album in its entirety with a short commentary prior to each song.  One song he entitled “Hosanna” and went on to explain how the word is a transliteration from the Hebrew meaning “Save us, now.”  This is what the Jews proclaimed, quoting Psalm 118 as Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.  Andrew mused that this simple word serves a dual purpose.  First, to cry out, “Save me,” is to admit that I need saving.  But it is also an acknowledgement that Jesus is able to save.  Both confession and praise.

Fast forward to this past Thursday.  As I arrived at the church where the concert was held, they handed out bulletins (okay, maybe I should call them programs; I can’t escape my “churchy” roots) with the order of service, or “set list” if you will.  After a few songs from each of the artists involved with the tour and a short intermission, the show entered into a progression of hymns and songs sung by Andrew and Jill as well as readings crafted by Andrew, tracing the last week of Jesus’ life.  Beginning with Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, Jill sang “Hosanna” from her album Kingdom Come (which I’ve written about before) followed by Andrew’s song of the same title.  I want to share the words here, since as of late they have become both my confession and praise.  Hosanna.

I am tangled up in contradiction.  I am strangled by my own two hands.  I am hunted by the hounds of addiction.  Hosanna!  I have lied to everyone who trusts me.  I have tried to fall when I could stand.  I have only loved the ones who loved me.  Hosanna!  O Hosanna!  See the long awaited king come to set his people free.  We cry O Hosanna!  Come and tear the temple down.  Raise it up on holy ground.  Hosanna!

I have struggled to remove this raiment, tried to hide every shimmering strand.  I contend with these ghosts and these hosts of bright angels.  Hosanna!  I have cursed the man that you have made me.  I have nursed the beast that bays for my blood.  Oh, I have run from the one who would save me.  Save me, Hosanna!  O Hosanna!  See the long awaited king, come to set his people free.  We cry O Hosanna!  Come and tear the temple down.  Raise it up on holy ground.  Hosanna!  We cry for blood, and we take your life.  Hosanna!  We cry for blood, and we take your life.  It is blood, it is life that you have given.

You have crushed beneath your heel the vile serpent.  You have carried to the grave the black stain.  You have torn apart the temple’s holy curtain.  You have beaten Death at Death’s own game.  Hosanna!  O Hosanna!  Hail the long awaited king, come to set his people free.  We cry O Hosanna!  Won’t you tear this temple down, raise it up on holy ground.  O Hosanna!  I will lift my voice and sing: you have come and washed me clean. Hosanna.

In Search of the STOF Man

I liked my last boyfriend for three reasons.  He was older, taller, and smarter than me.  Granted, he was only older by a few months, taller by a few inches, and smarter by, well, I didn’t ever ask his SAT scores, but I am fairly certain they were better than mine.  (He never did beat me at Connect 4, though.)  Obviously I valued more than those three characteristics, but it was a running joke I shared with friends at the time … my three “non-negotiables.”

Anyway, I was pretty amused to happen upon a similar list in the book I’ve been reading the past couple days.  Rachel Toor dedicates a chapter of her memoir, “Personal Record: A Love Affair with Running,” to her search for the ideal man who in her opinion is STYF: Smarter, Taller, Younger, and Faster.  She acknowledges the difficulty of defining smarter, but goes on to explain, “I need to be with someone whose mind zigs and zags in ways that enchant me, whether by listening to him talk about Penrose tiles or by watching him pack a moving truck.  Likewise, I want someone who wants me because he likes the sounds my sentences make on those rare occasions when they sing.”  I could not have said it better myself.

Taller is pretty self explanatory, but younger was a surprise.  Being in her 40s, Toor feels younger men are more comfortable around strong women.  She muses, “Show me a fellow who can articulate why he hates everything Hilary Clinton stands for but would never think to call her ‘opinionated’ and that’s a guy I’d like to date.”  Younger men for her aren’t patronizing.  Being that I’m nowhere near 40, and most of the guys she’s referring to as younger than her are still older than me, I’m sticking with my initial desire … older is better.  Bring on the maturity!

The title of the chapter in which this STYF discussion occurs is “Speed Goggles.”  As opposed to beer goggles.  For Toor, this one attribute has the potential to override the previous three.  “I find out that someone who seemed stupid, old, and short can still run a 2:30 marathon?  Come on over, big boy.”  Considering I am nowhere near the runner Toor is, I don’t think it should be very hard to find a guy faster than me!  And while I wouldn’t rank this trait at the top of the list, I’m happy to tag it on at the end.  I would love a running partner, someone better than me willing to condescend to my level, making me better.

Toor conludes the chapter by writing, “I’ve given up on trying to find a STYF man; he’s proved as elusive as an ivory-billed woodpecker.  Plus, I’ve come to accept that I’m not everyone’s cup of decaf skim chai: I don’t cook, and I’m kind of mean.  At this point I’d settle for an interesting running partner who pushes me to keep up and never calls me ‘opinionated’; someone who teaches me new things and knows the value of a semicolon.  If that’s still too much to ask, maybe what I really need is a dog.”

Well, I’m not dog shopping yet.  I don’t really cook either, but I’m not mean.  And I’m too young to give up on the dream of, in my case, a STOF man.

I resolve …

1. To make significant strides toward long term health and fitness.  I won’t elaborate here because I intend to address this one blog-wise in the next few weeks.
2. To take a sabbatical from television.  Over the past few years I’ve watched less and less TV, although this year being back on a student schedule has allowed for much more mindless consumption, especially in the afternoon hours (think Full House re-runs and Family Feud … yeah, I’m not proud).  I don’t want to be ridiculous about this one, however; I plan to follow the spirit of the resolution rather than the letter, especially when it comes to social occasions.  In fact, I am already exempting Thursday nights because LOST is a million times more fun with fellow addicts … ooh, and The Office.
3. To read more fiction.  This flows naturally out of the aforementioned resolution, as I would like to spend more of my free time (haha … fellow Exegesis students laugh with me now) reading for fun.  I would especially love to go back and re-read the books I “skimmed” in high school and college.  I started “To Kill a Mockingbird” over the break in solidarity with my brother who’s about to read it for school this spring.  I had forgotton how incredible it is, and it’s only reinforced my desire to read more.  My junior year of college I went on a “Greek Retreat Weekend” with my Greek Readings professor and about ten other students.  One night at dinner Dr. Roark asked us the first book we remembered reading and loving.  After several people offered their responses, he said something to the effect of, “You don’t get enough real life without reading fiction.”  More than anything Greek related about that weekend, I remember his oxymoronic statement and have since been amused to discover its truth.
4. To give my best effort toward course work.  My first semester back in school after four years off was a good one, but I definitely know I can do better.  Work was especially hard to balance (and I’m sure will continue to be so), but I think with a semester under my belt I am much better prepared to give my best effort this semester.  This will include:  not missing any classes unless decidedly planned in advance, i.e. because of travel, etc.  (However, I will not skip in order to finish homework for other classes or because I forgot to turn my phone – and thus my alarm – off vibrate, as were the few occasions for skipping this semester), actually being early for every class (five minutes is my goal), getting to know and have a good relationship with each of my professors, and finally (and perhaps most importantly) getting research done AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
5. To put myself on a path for significant spiritual growth.  I’m actually collapsing several resolutions into one here.  In so many ways the past semester has been the best of times and the worst of times, and honestly my time with the Lord has often been of the worst category.  It’s not just my “quiet time” that I’m concerned for; I have not sought to walk in the Spirit.  I’ve drunk shallowly and thus lived shallowly, but I am beginning again to crave that intimacy and depth.  Ever since my freshman year  when Richard Foster’s “Celebration of Discipline” was assigned reading in my Intro to Minisitry class, I’ve been unable to escape the book’s opening paragraph: “Superficiality is the curse of our age.  The doctrine of instant satisfaction is a primary spiritual problem.  The desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people.”  I don’t want to fall into a legalistic agenda rewarded by check marks and gold stars; I want to BE different.  BE transformed.  So tangibly, over the following year I would like to:

• Read the bible through chronologically.  It is ridiculous that I am a graduate student in Biblical studies and have yet to read my object of study in its entirety.  For some reason I get sidetracked after making it all the way to Judges; I get through the hard part and then give up and go back to familiar NT passages.  I have started several reading “plans” beginning in middle school and up to this past spring, but have yet to complete any of them.  So hopefully by trying something new (the chronological approach) and by making my goal public, this will be the year.
• Study, but more importantly actually practice the spiritual disciplines.  I want to experiment with those I have been more hesitant to practice and go deeper in those I have more confidence in.  I want to glean wisdom from those who have practiced them both now and well into the past.  I want to become the deep person Foster argues is so desperately needed.
• Attend Wheaton’s theology conference this spring over Spiritual Formation.
• Go on a personal retreat.  After reading this blog a few months ago, I was reminded of this blog I read awhile back, and the combination of the two stirred up a similar desire within myself.  I don’t know what it will look like or when it will happen, but I’ve also felt the call to “Get thee to a nunnery.”

Alright, so those are my five … well, more like ten crammed into five.  I am a lover of lists, especially lists in blog form, so this was a fun one.  What about you, friends … what are your resolutions this year?

Because I don’t get my final study guide until tomorrow …

1. Pick 20 of your favorite movies.
2. Go to IMDB, find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them in a note for everyone to guess.
4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie.
5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDB search functions. That’s cheating and it ruins the fun.

1. “I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen.” Sydnie & my mom (via the phone) – Say Anything

2. “Easy peasy japanesey.”  Tracy – The Shawshank Redemption

3. “I’m the first pancake.”

4. “Manure just happens to be my specialty.” Jayme (via Facebook)- Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken

5. “A boy’s best friend is his mother.”

6. “‘Allo”
“Did you say hello?”
“No, I said ”allo,’ but that’s close enough.”  Jennifer (via Facebook) – Labyrinth

7. “I may be a beginner at some things, but I’ve got a black belt in shopping!”  Michelle (via Facebook) – Troop Beverly Hills

8. “I have learned a thing that you haven’t.  There are some things worth having, but they come at a price.  And I want to be one of them.”

9. “No more rhymes now, I mean it!”
“Anybody want a peanut?“  My mom – The Princess Bride

10. “I can’t believe my grandmother actually felt me up.”  Jayme (via Facebook) – Sixteen Candles

11. “Pouncer, Pouncer the wonder cat. I’m so glad you’re not a rat, or a bat, or too fat.”  My mom – Beaches

12. “Secret’s in the sauce.” My mom – Fried Green Tomatoes

13. “And she is not petite, Lars. Bianca is a big, big girl!”  Jayme (via Facebook) & Jill – Lars and the Real Girl

14. “I don’t want to go with the pig face!”  Jayme (via Facebook) – Dan in Real Life

15. “You’re a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you!”  Jennifer (via Facebook) – Grease

16. “Mom still cries every time she sees a tilt-a-whirl or a fat lady in a tube top.”

17. “You know, I’ve always liked that word … ‘gargantuan” … I so rarely have an opportunity to use it in a sentence.” AnaLeah (via Facebook) – Kill Bill: Vol. 2

18. “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” My mom (kinda) & Tracy – When Harry Met Sally

19. “I carried a watermelon?“  Emily (via Facebook) – Dirty Dancing

20. “I want space, not just air, let ‘em laugh in my face, I don’t care.”

What a concert SHOULD be

Probably my favorite thing about living in the Chicagoland area is the chance I get to see all sorts of live music.  However, being a poor grad student, this plethora of concert options doesn’t always work well with my budget.  I really do need to marry a rich man to support my educational and concert-going “habits.”    But seriously, this has been a great semester for shows, and thankfully many of them have been relatively inexpensive, a few even free.

What’s been interesting to note, however, is the correlation between ticket price and concert quality.  The concerts I’ve paid the most for (Jenny Lewis, Ray LaMontagne, Conor Oberst), while still enjoyable, were not near as memorable as those that cost much less (Rachel Unthank & The Winterset, Don Chaffer, Over the Rhine) or were FREE (Andrew Peterson, Shawn McDonald).  I was so excited to see Ray LaMontagne … not only was it at the Chicago Theatre (as in the classic sign everyone recognizes), but it was sold out.  I expected the crowd to be ecstatic … communal somehow.  Instead there were a bunch of drunk girls yelling out, “We love you Ray!”  I mean, he was great, so talented, but I couldn’t help but think that the venue wasn’t right.  It was too big for his sound.  There was no intimacy that you hope for between yourself and the artist at a show.  Jenny Lewis felt a little commercial and forced at times, and I didn’t think Conor Oberst was a very generous performer.  It seemed to be about him and not the audience, which to me is a major concert faux pax.

The others, though … let’s just say I have been blown away on several occasions.  Starting with Don Chaffer.  It is a SHAME to me that this man’s music is as relatively unheard of as it is.  Emotional honesty and incredible creativity characterized his whole performance.  Never heard of him?  Download an album (for FREE) here (and then search for Waterdeep or Krusty Brothers). Or pre-order Waterdeep’s newest album and get a pre-release download sent to you immediately.  Yeah, I’ve heard it … it’s good … you should buy it  … now.

And then there was Andrew Peterson.  If I could choose to write like anyone, it would be Andrew.  For his album release tour this fall, he did two weeks of straight shows, all free, in the hopes of getting his music into the hands of those that might be blessed by it.  He played an annotated set, working through his album song by song, explaining the inspiration behind each one.  I could write an entire post about this show alone.  Actually, I could write a whole post just about the inspiration behind the song “Invisible God.”  His artistry extends beyond his music and lyrics and into the stories he tells.  My least favorite song on the album pre-show was “Rocket.”  I hadn’t listened that closely, and it seemed to me some silly boyish ode to a space machine.  However, after hearing his story about how a fan of his (who happened to be an astronaut) invited him and his family to a shuttle launch (as well as promised to take pictures of his albums up in space), I had to give the song a second chance.  I love how Andrew can see stories of resurrection (the album is called Resurrection Letters, Vol. 2) in the least expected of places.  He mused that trusting in Christ is somewhat like strapping oneself to an incredibly complex machine, a human’s only hope of breaking free from the earth that ties us down.  “Gravity binds us, but glory defines us.”  Sharon pointed that line out.  Yeah, I brought a few friends with me, most of whom hadn’t never even heard the name Andrew Peterson.  They all three bought his album and have since informed me that it was all they listened to for weeks.

Last week I saw Over the Rhine for the first time.  It was an unpublicized show at an old converted church in Naperville.  Pretty appropriate as Karin belted out what one reviewer called their “jazz hymn,” a poetic take on the return of Christ.  “The Trumpet Child will lift a glass, His bride now leaning in at last, His final aim to fill with joy, the earth that man all but destroyed.”  From the moment she opened her mouth to sing “I don’t want to waste your time,” I knew this concert would be anything but that.  Every song was incredible.  I’m not overstating it.  INCREDIBLE.  And they were so generous.  It’s like they know how talented they are, and rather than thinking more of themselves and making it all about them, they simply share their art.  Generously.  And the audience really responds to that.  There was a communal aspect to this show that I haven’t felt in a long time.  And while I love, love, love music, never have I really considered a song perfect.  “Trouble” is that song for me.  “If you came to make some trouble, better make it good.  Your sexy cocktail hour stubble is doing what it should.”  Seriously, greatest line ever.

This afternoon I got to see Shawn McDonald perform at a free show put on by Willow Creek.  Other than the horribly bright backlighting and the rude people talking in the back of the room for the first half of the show (until a random girl got up, interrupted Shawn in the middle of a story, grabbed the microphone and proceeded to tell them how rude they were being … in a rude manner herself, I might add, not to mention awkward) I would definitely put this show in the high quality/low cost category.  Give me one musician, a guitar, and a microphone over a whole production any day.  A few songs in, Kristi leaned over and asked if he seemed nervous to me.  He did a little.  An endearing nervousness.  There was such a drastic difference in the speaking Shawn versus the singing Shawn, however.  The former, who would start telling a story and then forget how it tied into the next song, was far outshone by the latter, who with passion and funk would belt out in one breath “takemyhandtothepromisedandonyouIwannastand’causeIcannotdoitonmyown.”  And then there was the skatting.  Seriously, my only exposure to skat is The Cosby Show and Shawn McDonald.  That takes talent, my friends.

I was recently reminded of something Jeff Tweedy said on Sunken Treasure (a DVD of his solo tour down the West Coast) about concerts as I began to reflect on all the shows I’d been to this year.  He compares a concert to what church would be like if church was what it should be.  At one point he’s reacting to some rude background talking at one of his shows (much like the kiddos today), and after chastising them a bit he shares the following thoughts on what a concert should be: “You feel yourself being in a room full of people with all their hearts beating and all of the their thoughts and feelings, and you’re a part of it.  You’re not just you.  You are a part of a group of people in a really beautiful way.  It’s a really wonderful thing to be a part of, but you have to pay attention to it.  It’s not just me; I’m not just being some pissy artist.  It’s what you do when you go to a concert.  You be a part of it.  You don’t set yourself apart from everybody.  You’re part of something.  It’s wonderful.  It’s joyous.”  Amen.  That’s what makes a concert great.  But it takes effort on both ends.  Artists can’t expect that from their fans with a half-hearted performance.  They have to be the kind of performers whose excellence commands that attention and interaction.  And when that combination is there, it’s magical.

So in my remaining year and a half (at least) in Chicagoland, I plan to continue to take full advantage of all my concert options.  Oh, and I’m currently taking applications for a financier, aka wealthy future husband. 

… We’d hum on Election Day

I had a long conversation with my dad last week about politics.  It was great fodder for a post, but alas, I have a research paper due in three days and a historical context assignment due in four, which leaves little time for political pontification.    So … I’ll share a song instead.  Enjoy!

Over the Rhine’s “If A Song Could Be President”

If a song could be president
We’d hum on Election Day
The gospel choir would start to sway
And we’d all have a part to play

The first lady would free her hips
Pull a microphone to her lips
Break our hearts with Rhythm and Blues
Steve Earle would anchor the news

We’d vote for a melody
Pass it around on an MP3
All our best foreign policy
Would be built on harmony

If a song could be president
We’d fly a jukebox to the moon
All our founding fathers’ 45’s
Lightnin’ Hopkins and Patsy Cline
If a song could be president

If a song could be president
We could all add another verse
Life would teach us to rehearse
Till we found a key change

Break out of this minor key
Half-truths and hypocrisy
We wouldn’t need an underachiever-in-chief
If a song could be president

We’d make Neil Young a Senator
Even though he came from Canada
Emmylou would be Ambassador
World leaders would listen to her

They would show us where our country went wrong
Strum their guitars on the White House lawn
John Prine would run the FBI
All the criminals would laugh and cry
If a song could be president

Oh, and while we’re talking politics (and music) here’s a link to some free music (about politics).

The Parable of the Lost Keys

You’ve heard them all.  There’s the parable of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son.  However, today, let me recount for you the parable of the lost keys.

**********

There was a girl who had a set of keys.  These keys were beloved in they eyes of the girl, for in addition to getting her into her car, her cousin’s car, her apartment, the laundry room in her apartment, her mail box,  and her parent’s home in Texas, they also were fastened together by two favorite key chains.  One key chain was replaceable, yet expensive.  The other cost maybe a couple bucks, however the girl was pretty sure the keychain was no longer for sale.

One day, the girl lost the set of keys.  And while this was a quite a common occurrence for her, this time things were different.  The keys weren’t simply misplaced in her apartment.  They were lost … for real.  The girl looked high and low, retracing her steps from Jamba Juice, across the parking lot to Old Navy, and on a few stores over to Famous Footwear.  She searched dressing rooms, through piles of clothes, and in shoe boxes, all to no avail.  After probably an hour of searching, the girl gave up.  She left her name and phone number with each shop, hoping to someday be reunited with her precious set of keys.

But the parable doesn’t end there.  Thankfully the girl’s cousin had a spare key to her car.  However, on this particular day, the day that the girl lost her keys and thus access to transportation, the girl forgot her cell phone at home.  So not only was she stranded at Old Navy of all places, but she had no way of contacting her only hope for rescue.  Thankfully an Old Navy clerk allowed the girl use of their phone to call the two numbers she actually knew by heart (neither of which was her cousin’s).  The girl tried her mother’s cell phone first, but of course there was no answer.  Who answers their phone to a strange number upon first ring?  The girl then tried the number she’d known since she was a child, and fortunately her father answered.  Unfortunately, however, he did not have the number she needed to get in touch with her cousin.  He did have her aunt’s (and mother of her cousin) cell phone, which he was able to give the girl.  The girl then alternated between calling her aunt and her mother until finally her aunt answered and gave the girl the number she’d needed from the start.  Finally the girl got a hold of her cousin who promised to come quickly and bring the spare key.

But the parable doesn’t end there either!  With spare key in hand (and soon, the ignition), the girl began to drive home.  However, she quickly realized that were she to arrive home, she would have no way of getting into her apartment.  And her only hope of rescue then would be her roommate, who again, she had no way of contacting.  And this time there was no one to call who could give her the number.  Remembering her roommate was currently in German for Reading, the girl made her way to campus, thinking that she’d find the class and hopefully borrow the key from her roommate.  Putting her detective powers to use, the girl looked up the class online and found it met in Blanchard 223.  However, when the girl found the classroom, it was obviously the wrong class.  After poking her head in, she only saw two people who assured her it wasn’t in fact German for Reading.  So the girl gave up that search as well, and settled on sitting outside near her roommates car, hoping to catch her after class and before she left Wheaton for the evening.

For an hour the girl sat outside, enjoying the beautiful fall weather and gorgeous Illinois foliage, and she began to work on a blog retelling her adventurous afternoon.  Eventually her roommate showed, and the two drove to their apartment, inside of which the girl found her cell phone with eight missed alerts, one of which being a classmate she had unconfirmed plans to meet in the library that afternoon.

**********

In the time I spent waiting for Jayme at Old Navy and then Emily at Wheaton, I remembered two things.  The first is a blog (which you can read here) I read several weeks ago, that at the time I COMPLETELY identified with, and do so even more now.  The pastor who wrote it refers to himself as a loser … of things.  He even blames it on genetics … as do I!  Seriously, I get this forgetfulness/losing things thing from my dad.  Anyway, he writes how of the three “lost” parables in Luke, he personally identifies most with the parable of the lost coin.  “Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it?  And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’”  He calls that good news and writes, “What a great thing it is to find something.  I’m guessing that my life has had bursts of joy that many of you have never known because you don’t lose things.  Nearly every week there is some moment of ecstasy when I realize that something I thought might be gone for good is still around.”  Well, I certainly have known those bursts of joy, preacher.  Too bad I’m still waiting on said burst for my keys.

The second thing that came to mind was an Andrew Peterson song.  I know, I know, he’s gotten a lot of blog space these days (and may get even more in coming days … I did go to an AMAZING concert of his last week).  Forgive me, but I’m going to share another whole set of his lyrics.  I can’t help it; the song is just too clever … and fitting:

I’d give you all of me to know what you were thinking
And if I had one wish, I’d wish I wasn’t sinking here
Drowning in this well
Oh, can’t you tell

That I can’t pick myself up off the ground
I’ve been face down and pushed aside
Well, you know I’d rather just turn tail and run
Than lie here in the sun
And watch you pass me by
‘Cause I ain’t worth a dime

But if only I could stand up straight
I wouldn’t have to lie and wait
I could up and roll away
And never be ignored
I’ve got a feeling that I’m something more
Than just a piece of copper ore
Turning green and looking for
The reason I was born

I’ve been around since 1964
In banks and bottom drawers
On railroad ties
I’ve been passed around and cast aside
Skipped and flipped and flattened wide
Spun around and thrown away and left alone to lie

But I heard about a penny found
Lying underneath a couch
By a woman who was kneeling down
And looking for some change
Then the woman danced around
And called her friends all over town
And told ‘em what was lost is found
It’s another penny saved

So I find that all this time
Beneath the surface I could shine
Like all the gold a king and queen could measure
You see, even just a penny is a treasure.

Now I’m certainly no biblical expert in parables, but they’re supposed to have a moral, a take away thought, if you will.  Jesus explicitly states the point of all three parables as the rejoicing that occurs in heaven over repentant sinners.  But in the story of the lost coin, there seems to be another layer.  There’s a desperation in the woman’s searching.  She searches until she finds what was lost.  I suppose my parable of the lost keys is somewhat antithetical.  I gave up.  It’s not that I didn’t love my keys; I just didn’t love them enough to spend anymore time on my hands and knees at Old Navy.  I’m glad my God is like the woman looking for her coin and not me looking for my keys.

Blessings and Woes

A few weeks ago I turned in my first grad school research paper.  Considering I haven’t written much else other than blogs these past four years, I was a little nervous about the assignment.  Regardless, I picked a topic and for a solid week did little else but read, highlight, and write … and write and write.  So, I’m sure you can understand my recent lack of blogging motivation.  : )

But, over two weeks have passed and I’m up for it again.  Actually, I wanted to write a little about my paper.  Usually, the second I turn in a research paper, I am itching to turn in my library books.  I cannot wait to have all evidence that a research paper occurred out of sight and out of mind.  And while I still am not “Little Miss Research,” this paper seemed to stick with me unlike any other I had written.

I think that picking a research topic can often be the most difficult part of the process.  My assignment was to trace a theme within one of the synoptic gospels, and initially I thought I might do something with Mark, either “kingdom” or “hiddenness.”  I was interested mainly because Mark is the shortest and we’d already gone over it in class.  Everyone I talked to, however, seemed to be thinking along similar lines.

The week before the paper was due Dr. Perrin lectured on Luke.  Towards the end of class, he split us into small groups and had each one read a different passage having something to do with the poor and then discuss the groups associated with the poor (lame, blind, etc.)  There were plenty of passages to go around.  My group read from Luke’s “Sermon on the Plain.”  Most people, even unchurched, have heard of Matthew’s “Sermon on the Mount,” or at least have heard the phrase “Blessed are the poor in spirit.”  However, what do you do with Luke who simply says “Blessed are you who are poor”?  Not sure I ever heard a sermon preached on that one.

Walking out of class that night, I changed my topic.  I hadn’t done any research yet anyway, so I made a decision.  I was going to write about the theme of “The Poor” in Luke.  The strange thing for me is that I rarely feel like I pick my research topics.  I may have some broad idea about what I’m going to write about, but once I get into it, things seem to change.  I went in thinking I would write about the poor, did all the research to that end, and ended up writing about the rich.  As I read more and more on the topic, it became more and more personal.  Rather than writing objectively about the ethical implications of Jesus’ apparent preference for the poor, I wrote personally about the ethical implications of the possession and dangers of wealth.

I don’t want this to be a Cliff’s Notes of my paper, so I’ll leave out the summarizing.  I’ll just say that after completing the paper, I still have a lot to think about.  I never considered myself rich, so I’m not sure Jesus’ stories and direct address (“Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.”) ever really spoke to me before.  However, as I read through Luke on this occasion, I saw myself reflected in the rich man, not Lazurus, in the rich young ruler, not the poor he was told to sell his goods to help.

I quoted Andrew Peterson the night I turned my paper in … the most writing I could muster at that point.  : )  His words so beautifully capture the point.  It’s not that there’s some inherent goodness in poverty or some inherent evil in wealth.  The poor are blessed because they know what it is to be in need.  They are in a spiritually enviable position in that “their economic misfortune render(s) them more responsive to the will of God.  Their daily hunger and grief h(o)ld them close to the prerequisites of the kingdom.”  (Okay, I had to get in one paper quote there … from Thomas Hoyt Jr.’s article “The Poor/Rich Theme in the Beatitudes” if you’re interested.)  Not to mention the fact that in the age to come there will be an end to their need.

Jesus speaks woes to the rich not because money is bad but because it’s easy to find our security and consolation in the world.  Like Andrew sings, I, too, am shackled by the comfort of my couch.  But the funny thing about woes is that they’re not actually condemnations.  They’re warnings.  It’s as though Jesus is saying, “Wake up!  Quit trusting in yourself and in your stuff and realize you have NOTHING apart from me!  Help those in need because I have blessed you to do so.  Glory in me, not in your possessions.”

The night before my paper was due, I had an interesting conversation with a man at the gas station behind my apartment.  We both approached the checkout counter at the same time, and he gestured for me to go first.  I stepped up to pay for my Dr. Pepper when the guy interjected, “Just buying lottery tickets.”  I think I might have smiled or said, “Oh,” my mind on getting out of there to get back to writing my paper when he piped up again, “Hope I win.”  He went on to tell me that he’d won $10,000 recently but that it was already gone.  I found this interaction a little ironic considering my paper topic.  I usually just nod and smile whenever strangers talk to me, but I thought I’d engage this man considering my paper and all.  “Yeah, I don’t think the track record’s too great on the people who win the lottery.”  To which he responded, “Yeah, you know money carries with it a kinda curse, but you know what?  Give me the curse.”  I gave an obligatory chuckle and walked back to finish my paper.

The dangers of wealth are almost inescapable.  We’re so culturally conditioned to think materially and selfishly, not eterally.  I would challenge you to read Luke with fresh eyes.  It’s amazing how much Jesus has to say about these issues.  Perhaps you’ll come away with a new or revived interest in helping the poor.  Or perhaps you’ll see a need for repentance as I did and still do.

Best Quote of the Day (Yesterday, Actually)

“The Christian life is the easiest thing in the world, unless you read your Bible.” – Dr. Perrin

Late Night Lyrics

Little Elba, how’s the sun in South America?
Does it shine upon the faces of the poor?
Do they see in it the brilliance of the place that’s been prepared,
And dwell upon the hope of what’s in store?
Or are they just like me?
Do they only see,
An opportunity to complain about the heat?

Little Elba, how’s the rain in South America?
Does it fall upon the rooftops of the sick?
Do they thank the Lord for coming up with such a great idea,
And dream about a place beyond all this?
Or are they just like us?
Do they gripe and fuss,
About the rain and mud when they’ve had too much?

‘Cause I’m just a little jealous,
Of the nothing that you have.
You’re unfettered by the wealth of,
Of a world that we pretend is gonna last.

Well I’m weary of the spoils of my ambition,
And I’m shackled by the comfort of my couch.
Well I wish I had the courage to deny these of myself,
And start to store my treasure in the clouds.
‘Cause this is not my home;
I do not belong,
Where the antelope and the buffalo roam.

And I’m just a little jealous,
Of the nothing that you have.
You’re unfettered by the wealth of,
Of a world that we pretend is gonna last.

They say God blessed us with plenty,
But I say you’re blessed with poverty.
‘Cause you never stop to wonder whether earth is just a little better than,
The land of the free

So I hope you’re safe and dry in South America,
‘Cause I’m feeling pretty good in Tennessee.
May you never be so happy that you forget about your home,
Your home in the land of the free.

Andrew Peterson – hidden track on “Clear to Venus”

Fringe & Teal

I hate clothes shopping.  It’s not that I don’t like clothes; quite the contrary.  I actually have a deep appreciation for clothing.  I am pretty particular in fact.  Therein lies my problem.  It’s rare for me to find clothes I really love.  Couple that with the ridiculous cost of most clothing I actually like, and I am doubly frustrated.  There’s an episode of Gilmore Girls (how many times have I written that?) in which Lorelai experiences my same frustration while clothes shopping with Rory.  She laments that there are no clothes for her anymore; “The Lorelai look is out!”  Yeah, well if the past few years have taught me anything clothes-wise, it’s that the Sarah look is out too.  Everything looks so young … and cheap.  Just this week a woman and her daughter came into work, and the mom said something about going shopping with her daughter to make sure she doesn’t end up looking like a hooker.  Yep, that’s how I would characterize much of what’s offered up these days … hooker-esque.

However, over the past couple of weeks I have seen what appears to be a glimmer of hope.  While doing a little back-to-school-clothes-shopping myself, I noticed (much to my delight) a prevalence of teal among the fall fashions.  Even more to my delight did I notice a peppering of fringe!

I’m not exactly sure where my teal obsession stems from.  Over the past year or so, I’ve been really drawn to that color.  I do, however, remember a scene from “The Wedding Planner” in which Jennifer Lopez (as the wedding planner) predicts the failure of a particular marriage down to the month based solely on the fact that the bride chose teal as the color for her bridesmaid dresses.  Well, her teal dissing didn’t stop me from my recent pretty teal nail polish purchase at Urban Outfitters.

The origin of my fringe fanaticism is much more clear.  Remember how the opening credits to The Cosby Show would change theme from season to season?  They had the same music, but always a different style.  Well, on one particular season, all of the Huxtables were decked out in their swankiest attire as they each took a turn dancing with Cliff.  I still remember Sondra in a simple black fringe dress with a little pink jacket.   You probably wouldn’t even notice it until Cliff spins her around and the fringe fulfills its destiny.  I LOVED that dress growing up!  I even talked about duplicating it for a high school dance, although I don’t think I got asked to that particular one.  : )  Fringe even makes its way into my beloved Gilmore Girls.  Rory is convincing Lorelai to attend her community college graduation, and Lorelai mentions looking forward to wearing her graduation cap, “for the tassel, ’cause you know my thing for fringe.”  Most recently I’ve talked about how I wanted to incorporate fringe into my bridesmaid dresses someday.  This prompted quite the eye roll from Sydnie Davidson … you just wait, sister friend!

Mmm … teal bridesmaid dresses with FRINGE!  Wonder what the expiration date is on that one?

Entertainer Third, Boss Second, Friend First

While I am completely excited about the upcoming year and all the plans and preparation involved, I must admit that today I am a little sad about the close of this year. I’m already missing the girls’ voices filling West Hall. I’ve had to say some sad goodbyes to residents and RAs that I might not ever see again. And all the doors are naked! It’s kind of depressing walking down the bare hallways without the amazing decorations the RAs worked so hard on. I told Kali that I was keeping my door tag up.

Before the RAs moved in this year, I made them all “Office” themed door tags. Each girl had a different Office character “welcoming” them to West Hall, complete with a hilarious quote. Probably my favorite was Ashley’s. Dwight welcomed her to West saying, “When my mother was pregnant with me, they did an ultrasound and found she was having twins, and when they did another ultrasound a few weeks later, they discovered that I had resorbed the other fetus. Do I regret this? No. I believe his tissue has made me stronger. I now have the strength of a grown man and a little baby.”

Well, since I was the boss, I decided to make my own door tag and let Michael welcome me. I actually made two, since my office has two doors … one of my very favorite things about my job. Anyway, on the outside of my office, where residents pass by, I had “Would I rather be feared or loved? Um, easy. Both. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me.” And on my inside door that opens up to the RA desk, I had “I guess the atmosphere that I’ve created here is that I’m a friend first and a boss second. Probably an entertainer third.”

Last night was my last “staff development” consisting of a surprise dinner at Ted’s and dessert at an unspecified location. In between the two, my RAs took it upon themselves to surprise me. After being told to wait in my office until someone came to get me, I was brought into the lobby where all my girls were standing in a line with their hands behind their backs. They sat me down in a chair and one by one pulled a letter of my name out from behind them, each reciting a line from a poem they wrote for me together as a staff.

Now, as I said before, I am really excited about next year. So excited that it’s been difficult for me to feel sad about leaving. Oh my word, though, I lost it with this poem. It’s probably very “inside joke-ish,” so I’ll just say that I almost killed several of these girls in a freak ditch accident last year …

Staff share time is the West Hall way
Avoiding ditches is not her forte
Rolls of pictures she loves to take
And her pretzel dessert is the best she makes
Hairstyles mark the seasons’ change

Kanye to Derek Webb is her musical range
Abilene is where her roots lie
Yes, without Bahama Mamas she might die
Event of the year is Strangers in the Night

Ran the full marathon with all her might
Entertainer third, Boss second, Friend first
Ending of Beaches made tears burst!
Dear Sarah, “Hanks” for the memories!

They also gave me gift certificates to Randy’s and Bahama Ice along with Twizzlers, Sour Patch Kids and Junior Mints … these girls know me so well! More than any of that, though, I will treasure my framed copy of the poem. They seriously all got together and had a poetry jam session!

On a few occasions I’ve been asked my favorite thing about being a hall director, and I have always answered the same thing … having an RA staff. These girls are absolutely incredible. They are all so beautiful and talented and work so hard to make West Hall a great place to live. They make me look good! More than any other part of my job, I will miss Anna, Melody, Adrienne, Jen, Lindsay, Elizabeth, Ashley, Kali, Cherish, Quita, Amanda, and Stephanie.

Whatever It Takes

Humor me, but I’ve got one more running post for you guys.

Actually, “training” is a better word. I’ve got one more training post for y’all.

I’ve had a week without running to rest, recuperate, and reflect on the marathon and the five months of training leading up to it. It’s been a nice break, but I must say that it felt good to put my running shoes back on and get a few miles in yesterday. I’ve even started thinking about my next big race … perhaps a half marathon this fall in Chicago? I have realized that I do best when I have a set goal with a clear plan of how to accomplish it. Next race day? September 14th. Training starts? June 23rd.

Last semester, long before Jamie volunteered to train and run the marathon with me, we were engaged in another sort of training together. We met weekly for the purpose of spiritual encouragement and accountability. We both had the desire to memorize scripture contextually and were already working through Philippians when marathon training started. In keeping with the whole idea of “training” we decided to set spiritual as well as physical goals that were to culminate on April 27th. And while we both crossed the finish line that day in terms of the marathon, our audacious reading and memorizing goals were left behind at mile two.

When we first began training and I pictured marathon day, I pictured the shirt I would run in. On the front, of course, would be my number. On the back, however, I wanted two things. “26(.2) miles in my 26th year” and “…train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come. 1 Timothy 4:7b-8″ As race day drew near, however, I didn’t feel like I could put those verses on my back. I could mentally assent to their truth, but my course of training did not show that was what I really believed. I made the sacrifices of time and effort to discipline and train my body for a 26.2 mile race, and come race day, I was ready. However, my training for godliness was sporadic and often shallow, and on race day, I wasn’t much further than when I started.

I am convinced that almost anyone can run a marathon. People of all shapes, sizes and ages cross that finish line. I used to see these people and think, “Really? You just ran a marathon?” It all comes down to training. If someone is willing to put in the time and effort to train and train well, then she can run the race … and finish. Hardly anyone, however, can just get up one morning and decide to go out and run twenty six miles. Determination and effort without training can only carry you so far.

There’s a book I have yet to read whose title captures for me the spiritual side of training: “A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society,” by Eugene Peterson. I love that … a long obedience in the same direction. I want to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, but I oftentimes don’t want to work at it. I want to be perfect now. I want to say the right things at the right time. I want to behave appropriately always. I want to have self control. I want to be giving and unselfish. I want to snap my fingers and have all of this perfected in me instantaneously. I forget that it is in training, in hardships, in time and in pain that God “molds me and makes me after his will.” I want to work out only when I feel like it and then expect to run a marathon, but it doesn’t work that way.

I feel that my “bodily training” success has paved the way for success in “training in godliness.” I’ve learned that there are no short cuts. If I try to avoid the “hard” or the pain, I’ll only end up weak and shallow. It’s not always exciting or pleasant, but it’s always worth it. Awhile back, I read a Kate McDonald blog about her infant son’s temper tantrums. She wrote about how even at 14 weeks, Cohen thought he knew what was best and would rail against “tummy time.” She writes, “HE doesn’t know that to be able to walk, he needs to crawl and that to be able to crawl, he needs to learn to hold up his head and chest … which is why I am laying him on his tummy in the first place. It made me think about my life … and about God. God must chuckle at my twisting and turning and screaming about wanting my way and think, ‘really, Kate? Really? You are so sure you know that you know what you need, aren’t you?’ It was a small epiphany that left me thinking long after the little man had (finally) dozed off, worn out from his vain toiling. I found myself saying, ‘God, whatever it takes for me to walk … all of the stretching and discomfort … help me to quit fighting the things you have set in motion in my life to help me grow …’”

Hmm … whatever it takes for me to walk … or run. That’s a scary prayer to pray. However, it’s a prayer that will hopefully carry me beyond mile two and on to twenty six.

Lessons Learned

The OKC Memorial Marathon is exactly two weeks away – time for another training update. The program I’m using lasts twenty weeks, so I’ve been in official training since December 10th. These past eighteen weeks I’ve learned quite a bit about running, my body, and myself. I figure a sharing of “lessons learned” will work quite well as an update.

Lesson One: Two are better than one.
When I initially considered running a marathon, I figured I would be doing so solo. Thankfully just before training began, my friend Jamie offered to train and run alongside me. Now that race day’s almost here, I know without a doubt that I could not have come this far alone. It’s as though God saw my desire, knew my insufficiency, and provided the means. Solomon knew what he was talking about.

Lesson Two: The next best thing to a partner is music.
As big of a music person as I am, when I’m running with someone, I prefer to do so sans iPod. However, put me on a treadmill or on a long run all alone, and tunes are a must. In last year’s half marathon, I began the journey with “Eye of the Tiger” and crossed the finish line to “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.” There’s just something about just the right song at just the right part of a run. A Flock of Seagulls’ “I Ran” got me over the hill of death (next lesson) yesterday, and Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” brought me home.

Lesson Three: Hills will kill you … and make you stronger.
Oh, Edmond. You really can’t go anywhere without encountering some shift in elevation. Scenic? Yes. Runner friendly? No. Well, I take that back. I may not like the hills, but I know they make me a better runner. A few weeks ago, I charted out an eight mile course whose last half mile included what has since become known as The Hill of Death. It starts at Bryant and Ayers with a slight, slow incline which lures you into a false sense of security. However, get past the nursing home and I honestly think the hill begins to laugh at you as it pummels you with it’s increasing steepness with no end in sight. You make it over the crest at Blackwelder thinking it’s all over, but oh no. One more up and over before you hit UCO and are finally done. Seriously, the hill is evil. The first time Jamie and I ran it, I couldn’t catch my breath. I am literally gasping for air almost in tears as we reach UCO, and in her fully functional and virtually unaffected voice, Jamie says, “That was hard. But so good for us.” That about sums it up.

Lesson Four: Drink lots of water … that’s not just propaganda, you know!
I have never been more conscious of my fluid intake than these past few months. The day before a long run is critical. It’s the difference between a lethargic tedium and an energetic joy. Oh, and carb loading, too. The rumors are true; what you eat the day before a run has a profound effect on your performance. Pasta is a must.

Lesson Five: Training for a marathon does not equal weight loss.
Now while not the motivation nor purpose behind my decision to run a marathon, the thought of losing a few pounds seemed like a nice little bonus. Not so much. It turns out that running miles and miles makes you more hungry. And there’s the mentality that I’ve fallen into: “Oh, I just ran 14 miles, I can eat whatever I want!” Well, yeah, but I can’t expect to lose weight that way. Granted, I’m sure that I’ve gained some muscle in my legs, but that’s not all that’s not all that’s made the scales creep up these past few months. It turns out that marathon training is actually not the best time to try and lose weight. From my training book, “Your body has been making the adjustments necessary to run a long-distance race, not to go to a 10-year high school reunion.”

Lesson Six: Kick up your heels.
There are several dangers out there for road runners, two of which I’ve encountered being dogs and cars. A few weeks ago, Jamie and I were finishing up a run in a her neighborhood when a medium sized black dog came running straight at us from about fifty yards away. It was barking and growling, so needless to say I was a bit terrified. We tried to ignore it, but the thing was literally at our heels (evidently that’s not just a saying). My response was to kick my heels up as high as I could while I kept running, thus hitting the dog in the face. Thankfully it worked, and it left us alone. Then yesterday, I was crossing an intersection, fully entitled with the walk signal signaling me to walk, when a car decided to race through what was no longer a yellow light. We’ll add these to my growing list of near death experiences.

Lesson Seven: It’s all in your head.
We’ve all heard it before. “It’s all mental.” Nothing could be more true of running. Sure, there’s the physical side … blisters, asthma, injuries, chafing. However, I’ve come to realize that the mental side is infinitely more difficult perhaps because it’s actually in my control. Last week was our twenty mile long run, the longest we’ll complete before the marathon. We went out of our way to make this run as pleasant as possible, marking off the most scenic and varied route. Now while I wouldn’t call the first seventeen miles entirely pleasant, they were actually at times enjoyable. However, the last three miles were killer. Everything in me wanted to stop. Every ten seconds or so I would internally debate whether or not to tell Jamie we needed to walk a block or two. It was all I could think about. My breathing was noticeably labored, but thankfully Jamie kept silent. If she had opened her mouth to ask me if I was okay, I know I would have caved and told her I needed to stop. We trudged along together in silence, finally turning our last corner and finishing our last city block. And we stopped. And I felt good. Not because I was done running, but because I didn’t stop any sooner. It’s a mental victory I’m counting on for miles 20 through 26.

Well, those are my “this side of the medal” lessons. I’m sure I’ll have a few more to share come April 28th.