this is what i had for brunch 
guayabina fresh from the tree.
i picked it myself! there is just something about eating a food you picked with your own hand from a tree that came up out of the earth you rest on.
mmmmmmm
if you want me to be sorry, i’m not.
if you want me to give up, i won’t.
if you feel like i’m getting lost, don’t let go of the leash on my fuzzy monkey backpack.
i will always wander back to you. i can’t really help it.
my beauty is the reflection of all the beauty around me. it suffocates me and drowns my senses. you may not want to see it yourself. but i’ll always be wandering around pointing it out to you.
even the bad things are staggering in their beauty.
staggering.
lent always brings about a few extra weeks of guilty feelings and questions about my committment to this life i have chosen. i don’t ever mean for it to, but what could possibly be more guilt-inducing than an opportunity to fail daily at the one small thing you are promising god you will try to do for him the next 40 days. i mean it’s not as if going without chocolate until easter is going to end my life. or saying the lord’s name in vain. which i really should stop doing anyway. chances are it won’t stop my heart. it might give me a facial tic, but “jesus suffered for you, it’s the least you could do.” so says my sweet yet dripping with sarcasm friend.
this year i am trying not saying the lord’s name in vain, and adding in some prayers when i wake up and when i go to sleep. i have a book of the daily offices for prayer, and for a while i was really getting good at saying them each night when i was headed to bed. granted, since i am THE night owl, it ended up usually being the night watch hours. meaning instead of the whole church together, it’s most likely just the monks and i. because even god is probably asleep at that hour.
but last night when i was laying down, pajamas on, teeth brushed, face washed, much time wasted on facebook, i knew that it was growing near to time to show myself what my lenten stuff was made of. and for some reason, in a liberating fit of rebellion, i decided not to do it. not just felll asleep too fast. not just got distracted imagining my future children and their giggles, or riding on a vespa in the mountains, or hang gliding. i really decided not to. a conscious snub. on the first day of lent. that’s gotta be some sort of record.
because every year i eventually get to the point that i hate whatever it was i committed to 30 something days earlier. and i resent my own apparently stupid need for reflection and affirmation of a job well attempted. but it has never happened on the first day. at some point i imagined god rolling his eyes at the fragile little pile of flesh shaking her angry little spoiled fist at him from the bed. so vulnerable that she didn’t even have real clothing to protect her. but she felt so confident in refusing to abide by the offering that SHE chose, she tried to somehow sting the heart of the god of the universe. i guess maybe she didn’t really care to be logical at that point.
it’s like children when they act like jerks out of nowhere. there is something else wrong. there is a dire need for attention. and negative will do. there’s a hurt somewhere that feels neglected. and somebody big and strong can take it on. all the misplaced anger and mistrust. he can take it. i hate it when i wake up the morning after being a spoiled rotten baby.
so when i woke up this morning, i was ready for the annual lenten guilt. three times this morning i said, “for god’s sake!” and had to follow it quickly with, “sorry, jesus.” which is a lot more fun than the battle to get me to pray. it’s like a drinking game without the vomiting. how can i eliminate my need to swear with his name, and still get a good giggle when someone almost takes off my leg with a wagon full of papayas and i have to apologize to jesus. but the serious part was nagging at me. i hated the feeling that lent was going to be useless this year because i apparently fell off the wagon somewhere and couldn’t catch back up. what good is lent when you aren’t even speaking to god?
things got worse when i finished my dentist appointment. i have to go pretty much every morning. and even with all that, i was told this morning that it might not be finished when it’s time for me to go home in 5 weeks. which brought on a quick exit of the doctor’s office and hot, angry tears all the way down the hill to the street. now instead of ignoring him, i was shouting at him in my mind. “fix this, if you can. or if you even want to, or care. i have no idea what the purpose of destroying my very heart is, but if i have to look like a hillbilly for the rest of my life/no one is ever going to want to marry me/never be cast in a toothpaste commercial, then i guess that’s my lot. i expose my heart, the most painful things in my soul, all alone every morning. and it’s all for nothing. gone.”
all this led to me deciding to buy an mp3 player, my guess is to drown out or shut out the world. which i could not do feasibly today, just because of logistics. so i went to the place where the coffee is decent and the music doesn’t make me want to jump off the nearest bridge. and i sat, alone, in casablanca, staring out the door. trying hard to focus on the book i was reading, but wondering instead if i were even less of a christian than anne lamott. because i didn’t think he would help me. i was sure of it, in fact. that’s when he walked in.
uncle doug, as we shall call him, has been a frequent guest in my life lately. he is too nice to be “normal,” and too good looking (pretty eyes!) to blend in. he has this open quality about him that makes even the most guarded caretaker types (ahem *points at self*) want to take a turn in the patient chair and spill it all out to him. therefore, it’s extremely difficult to forget seeing him around. an american from missouri, tired of america, he is hanging out in south america, working with a missions organization and also doing some time at casablanca as a waiter. he showed up this morning to pick something up, in a hurry, on his way out the door. that’s when he noticed my book.
normally when someone asks me if i am a christian, it’s awkward and strange. like asking someone if they are your father. something impolite to ask that you feel like they should either already know or have enough sense to leave alone. because if they don’t know, there’s probably a good reason. if nothing else, it’s just because that word “christian” doesn’t always mean good things. do i love god? well i sure do. even when i’m angry. he’s not leaving and neither am i. so we’re in this old marriage where we are comfortable enough to fight a bit, but we never go to bed angry. and i wouldn’t dream of looking elsewhere for my comfort, my completion. not really.
so when that inevitable question arose, my awkward shift and strange facial expression (something akin to chinese water torture face, i reckon), it begged a better explanation than, “yes. and sometimes unfortunately.” what does that even mean? sheesh.
that’s when whatever he had to do slipped his mind. and suddenly, i was asking him if he thought it was stupid to pray about where to go out to eat, or thank jesus for a parking spot. he explained to me that sometimes, if you live in new york city, praying for a parking space and finding one is something to praise god for. and totally acceptible. not that either of us live in new york city. but it made sense, hypothetically. we talked about how funny it would be to have seen jesus yelling at those guys in the temple, and turning over tables. i would have hidden my face and begged jesus not to make a scene. i hate conflict. and how sometimes when we turn over tables, it helps to know that we are in good company. or if jesus ever had a moment when he was unhappy about stepping in camel poo, and grumbled as he wiped his shoe. or farted at the table and made his friends laugh. maybe he chuckled a little, thinking that farts were a good invention after all.
and the thing i knew then, as certain as i knew my own name, was that god had wanted to hang out with me that morning. he had followed me all around, with me grumbling and grunting. turning over all the tables in my mind. pointing my poisonous fingers at him and shaking my head. and he put his hand on the small of my back, and steered me toward the coffee. where he met me on the way out the door with a bag of granola, and left me with a warm and glorious smile. me still having ignored my promise to pray. still fuming a little and stomping my spoiled foot.
i cried a little after uncle doug left. and i didn’t wonder anymore if i was less of a christian than anne lamott. i figured, at the very least, i was in good company if i was going to get kicked out of being a “christian” now. rob bell, anne lamott, and me. let them kick us out. i guess i figure if fighting with god, having too many questions, and struggling through life with a chronic attitude problem separates us from holiness and hope, we need to find another hope. because even the best of the try-ers won’t get much farther than that. and that’s where the hope is.
the hope is that he will always follow us. and that the moments in which we understand a sliver of the love that is poured openly on us, will be more and more frequent as the time goes along. not for 40 days, not until easter, when everything is supposed to be fine. but forever. until the struggle is done. that hope is not pretty and neat. it’s ugly and hard. and unpleasant. but it’s worth giving away. because it’s certain.
he will always follow us.
“we are here to learn to endure the beams of love.” – william blake
just some lyrics to work your thinker. oh, melancholy day.
Cold As It Gets – Patty Griffin
To the end of the earth I search for your face
For the one who laid all of our beauty to waste
Threw our hope into hell and our children to the fire
I am the one who crawled through the wire
I am the one who crawled through the wire
There’s a million sad stories on the side of the road
Strange how we all just got used to the blood
Millions of stories that’ll never be told
Silent and froze in the mud
Silent and froze in the mud
I know a cold as cold as it gets
I know a darkness that’s darker than coal
A wind that blows as cold as it gets
Blew out the light of my soul
Blew out the light of my soul
I dream in my sleep
I dream in my days
Of some sunny street not so far away
Where up in a window a curtain will sway
And you and I’ll meet down below
You and I’ll meet down below
I know a cold as cold as it gets
I fight a war I may never see won
I live only to see you live to regret
Everything that you’ve done…
peace.
i just showered. the kind of glorious shower you take when you know it’s really time. the day has been long. the grime of the streets, the smog, the living, has been ground in good and deep. the air around you feels stale and pungent with having lived. and hot water is the only thing that can take it all away.
now that i am released, i am listening to the sound of my chicha soaked neighbors passed out in their rooms. snoring, in the vacant stillness left by their formerly blaring pop music. their cats wake up to fight every little bit, breaking the stillness. but there are no more fire works. no more marching bands. no more water fights. at least not for the night….
and i am listening to the most romantic song, on repeat to settle the mood for my writing. although i have no one specific to think on while i listen (let’s not start rumors, now), i feel warmed and familiar. “my love” by sia is something otherworldly in it’s sentiment. and it fits the night perfectly. familiar. i like this feeling very much. i do.
all that’s left to mention is the steaming mug of mint tea by my side. oh, and maybe this strange feeling of vacancy dwelling in my very self. i’m not sure when i became aware of it first, but i feel that we’ve been acquainted for some time. truthfully, this vacancy and i are on quietly stable but contemptuous terms. it’s not so much the idea of being incomplete. it’s just a vacuous space with an attitude. it waits only for the idea or purpose that is it’s right occupant. and only on still nights like this am i forced to acknowledge it’s unending series of impatient sighs.
it is not painful. it is a longing. it is deep, and it is undeniable. it does not hurt, it aches.
i will continue to rest here. and perceive it in the sounds of 3 am. in the perfect touch of the piano or the melody in my song. i will shortly give in to the persistence of the sighs and ponder where that right occupant rests tonight. if only for a moment.
and i will release the grime of the living. slowly, a little at a time.
the ragamuffin gospel (borrowed from my friend eric’s blogpost)
the ragamuffin gospel is not for the super-spiritual.
it is not for muscular christians who have made john wayne and not jesus their hero.
it is not for academicians who would imprison jesus in the ivory tower of exegesis.
it is not for noisy, feel-good folks who manipulate christianity into a naked appeal to emotion.
it is not for hooded mystics who want magic in their religion.
it is not for alleluia christians who live only on the mountaintop and have never visited the valley of desolation.
it is not for the fearless and tearless.
it is not for red-hot zealots who boast with the rich young ruler of the gospels: “all these commandments i have kept from my youth.”
it is not for the complacent, hoisting over their shoulders a tote-bag of honors, diplomas, and good works actually believing they have made it.
it is not for legalists who would rather surrender control of their souls to rules than run the risk of living in union with jesus.
the ragamuffin gospel is for the bedraggled, beat-up, and burnt out.
it is for the sorely burdened who are still shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to the other.
it is for the wobbly and weak-kneed who know they don’t have it altogether and are too proud to accept the handout of amazing grace.
it is for inconsistent, unsteady disciples whose cheese is falling off their cracker.
it is for poor, weak sinful men and women with hereditary faults and limited talents.
it is for earthen vessels who shuffle along on feet of clay.
it is for the bent and the bruised who feel that their lives are a grave disappointment to god.
it is for smart people who know they are stupid and honest disciples who admit they are scalawags.
the ragamuffin gospel is for anyone who has grown weary and discouraged along the way.
-brennan manning (emphasis mine)
every day, i hope you love. i mean, really really love. in a way that takes a part of your soul out with it. in a way that marks you and leaves a scar to remember.
people need to feel that undeserved grace. i need it.
and i hope you live like someone who is incredibly and irrevocably loved. even when you are inconsistent. and imperfect. and largely undesirable.
because you are.
even then.
especially then.
no matter what other trappings you add to your idea of a deity… this is the best part. and i couldn’t worship anything less than the insane. the unbelievable. these ways are not our ways.
thank god.
i just can’t think of what to write today. i have been thinking all day of posting, and now that it’s time, i find myself drained and sad. ugh.
a couple of days ago, a boy that was in my brother’s class growing up, was killed in a four-wheeler accident in western kansas. i didn’t find out until this afternoon. the thing with these sorts of situations is that there is no good answer to it. there’s no reason. no help. just sadness, shock, pain. it was just an accident.
and then there is, of course, my immediate, irresistible urge to call my baby brother just to see if he’s okay. even though he was on the other side of the state from there and still is…
i call him my baby brother much to his chagrin, for he is not a baby. he is, in fact, almost 23 years old. and has a good, grown-up people job, which he was trying desperately to do (and not get fired from for answering the phone) when his crazy sister called him up all out of breath and about half in tears, and pestered him about his poor friend. it was beautiful, and i hope it made him smile a little. just feel a little more loved today maybe.
here’s what i know. i’ve been doing some thinking. i think all we really have here is our family. we have our born family, and our chosen family. and for me, out of all of those wonderful people, never did i pray harder, cry louder, fight with more ferocity, or love more protectively than my brother. he was given to me when i prayed for him as a child. and i cannot imagine the world without him in it….
maybe the horrible things that go on around us also serve to help us remember who we are and what we are about. maybe i will hug my bubba extra tightly next time i see him. just to remind us both that it won’t last forever and that we are so blessed.
hug your family.
i was thinking this morning, as i was lying in bed… i may have the very best life ever. and here’s why.
you will soon discover, no doubt, if you are already not aware, that i am positively smitten with CHILDREN! and i am surrounded by them at every turn it seems. i even get a little one month old sweet girl to hold and cuddle when i work in my cafe. so blessed!
and so, for your viewing delight, here are a few (bolivian and otherwise) that will melt your hearts.
happy monday!
my sweet girl, maria. i took care of her in a hospital once, as she was an orphan with no visitors, and very little attention from the staff. i almost actually considered buying her a new birth certificate and being her mommy. ugh. hard decisions, these…
precious girls, J and E, at casa de amor, house #2! those kids sure do know how to tug on some heart strings…
my handsome man, the ethanator, getting some lovin’ from auntie kate and auntie nona. miss him so!
miguel(ito) is the kid of one of our former street kids. she’s been off the streets for almost 2 years now, and has made so much progress. miguel was terribly undernourished and behind mentally when we first started working with them. but he’s all over the place now! asking the names of things, telling stories, catching and throwing various objects (hehe). what a guy!
my baby girl! this is my goddaughter, katie bug, when she was a bit younger. she’s practically off to preschool by now! i can’t wait to chase her around again when i get home.
and of course, her sisters, hailey and lilly. without these three girls, my life would be emptier by far. this picture is from a late night skype chat with nonna.
finally, my favorite alligator dancing, saturday morning boogie-ing, peanut butter toast eating housemates: E and J. living with these two was forever an adventure (although their parents are quite calm). sufficed to say, i never lacked an audience or helpful suggestions when i was doing something around the house or getting ready to go.
don’t you just LOVE these kiddos?
blessings!
*sigh* as much as i love old things, i sure do get a kick out of new ones.
it’s time for a new beginning. i’m going public.
the time is drawing nearer and nearer. i have to tell you, i am a bit nervous. you see, i’ve been living in south america, in the serious third world, for coming up on two years here pretty quick. and although i have endured the majority of it with barely concealed contempt and often outright protestation, it has made an unexplainable impact on my life and my character. almost nothing that i thought or felt before is relevant or even near to my consciousness. i believe this is what concerns me.
i am not ready for the change to be applied to my home. it’s one thing for me to be someone new and different here. but my insides get all knotted up and worried with the idea of trying to be the new me in the old wine skin. what if they don’t sing the songs the way we used to? what if i don’t have the same taste in food i had before? what if i lose some of my friends? or worse, what if i have to get rid of some?
this era in my life is one of newly developed self-respect and courage. i have learned what i am capable of and what i can honestly survive. and i won’t be party to anything less than i deserve. i won’t be bullied. i won’t be shamed into silence. i won’t be dependent. and most of all….
i won’t waste anymore time away from my family, chosen and blood. what will the sacrifice entail? what will the change consist of?
whatever it is, of this you can be sure: expect of me what you wish. but understand that loving me means always expecting a surprise.
the girl with the red balloon
