It's back!

JP made a special call from Florida today to tell me he saw a commercial for the PogoBall on Nickelodian this morning. Very exciting indeed. I wanted one so badly when I was younger, and I finally received one on Christmas of 1987. It was yellow with an orange ball. I wonder whatever happened to it?

Red Velvet with Chocolate Buttercream Frosting or Yellow Butter with Bavarian Cream?

I've been shopping for a dress to wear as I stand up with my brother at his June 3rd wedding, and somehow, somewhere in this process, the wedding industry has decided that I myself am engaged, and I am now receiving plenty of wedding planning materials in the mail. Did you know that a wedding cake runs at $2.25 a serving? Well, according to this letter, full of congratulations about my engagement, that's what a wedding cake costs. Has anyone ever had apricot filling? There is also a wide array of wedding invitations out there designed to fit my unique personality. I like the cards that look like old West wanted posters myself. Or maybe the motorcycle invitations. "Born to be wed."

Oh, and if you want striped napkins, they're going to cost you $13.00 more than solid colored napkins. Watch out. The stripes'll get you.

Bittersweet news

I just got off of the phone with my good friend, Liz, who excitedly told me that she has been "released," meaning that she has raised sufficient funds and will be going back to her mission in Bolivia just after Easter. I praise God that He has provided the means for Liz to return to the land that her heart never left, but I want to cry inside too. Liz and I don't get to see each other very often since she is in Chicago and I am in St. Louis, but the knowledge that I probably won't be able to see her for at least two years puts a damper on my joy indeed.

Liz and I met during my freshman year at Eastern. She was an upperclassmen and had spotted me at the Christian Campus House, easily identifying me as someone who didn't seem to know a lot of people and who was lacking a secure place. She had transferred in as a junior, so she didn't know a lot of people either, but she possessed a greater social and spiritual maturity than I: her focus was as much outwardly on others as it was inwardly on herself. She had also seen me around campus, at the library, and such, and she felt a compulsion to reach out to me. I remember the night that she finally caught the opportunity to talk to me, yelling hi and speaking to me as if we had known each other for years. We were walking down the slope leading to the Campus House at the time, and I was peering through the darkness of the late autumn night, trying to figure out if I knew this very assertive person or not. I finally asked, "Do I know you?" A sheepish grin replaced her full smile, and she said, "No, actually you don't - I just wanted to say hi." We introduced ourselves to each other, and that was that. We didn't see each other after that, until the next semester when we both happened to sign up for political science at the last minute and found ourselves in the auxiliary class added to accommodate a surplus of students. When she walked in the door I smiled and waved hi and she immediately sat down by me. We started talking and were friends immediately. Especially in new situations, especially around new people, I'm usually shy and reserved - or at the very least quietly observant, trying to figure out if I can trust a person or not. Liz is perhaps the very first person I was able to completely be myself around right from the start.

Our friendship grew, and she became an unofficial mentor for me. We laughed and cried together, went camping together, left crazy messages on each other's answering machines, and studied and prayed together. She graduated, I pressed forward in college; she went to Bolivia, I student-taught and tried to figure out what was next. I started teaching; she came home from Bolivia. Yet, through a slew of phone calls and e-mails, we have remained in touch.

Now, she is leaving again, and my heart is a little sad. Her leaving for two years puts things in a stark perspective. It leads me to think of all that might change in the next two years. God willing, I'll be finished with seminary when she returns. Who knows where I will be living? Who knows where I might be preparing to move? What will her life be like then? Will she be planning on returning to Bolivia? Will she always be in Bolivia? And if so, how will the political, economic, and cultural climate there affect her life, and what changes will she have to make to adjust with the shifting times? What changes will we both have to make in our lives to adjust to the shifts and tremors that occur as time continues on?

I am so glad that I am not in charge of making sure that this all turns out okay. I am so glad I am not in charge of working out everything to the best for everyone. A lot can happen in 2 to 3 years. It's scary to think of everything that might happen - good and bad. Once again I am led to trust in God to care for me, to care for Liz in the coming years. Once again obedience and trust hold out hope and peace to me. If I had no one to obey, if I had no one to trust - that would mean I was in charge, that the spin of the world was left up to me. The rise and fall of those around me would be because of me. I'm glad I can just obey God. I can sleep at night.

I'm going to miss Liz. It's kind of scary knowing all that could happen in the next few years while she is not right here. But she's not in charge of all this either, and the same God I am seeking to obey is the God of her heart as well. And this God we serve has shared His heart for Bolivia with her, so she must obey and go and love and worship. And I'll do the same as I go back to school. And I'll look for those people who don't seem to know anyone too well and don't have anyone with whom they feel secure. And Liz will as well. And we will be fine. With Christ as our Savior, what have we to fear?

Hurts so bad

"Oh God, it hurts so bad to love anybody down here."My friends in Waterdeep give words to the essence of my emotions once again. People are hard to love. I don't mean it's hard to engage in the task of loving. I don't necessarily mean it's hard to perservere in the task of loving, or at least that's not what I'm speaking of in this context. I mean it's just hard. It's hard to get it right, and I mess up. Others mess up. And how do you know if you're doing a good job? How do you know when it's okay to be tough and when you're just being a jerk?

I feel hurt and betrayed tonight, but more than that, I feel angry. I have been betrayed, but someone I'm close to has been betrayed more deeply, both of us by the same person - someone we care about, someone in whom we have invested time, energy, and love - though my friend's investment has been greater than my own. In the startlingly brief time of just a month, we have watched this person shovel a trench for himself, and now we are just watching him dance around it, knowing that the swan dive into the murky water is just moments away. He's been in that trench before. He knows what it is like. He's kept himself out of it for years. But now, now he's heading back. We've tried tenderness. We've tried tough love. We've explained his choices. We've shone light on the path that would take him away from the rough, impoverished lifestyle he is preparing for himself. Yet, each day reveals that he is either not trusting our judgement or does not think he can handle the responsibilities we've urged him to embrace. And now, he's almost gone. I feel betrayed because of the responsibilities I joyfully entrusted to him and he joyfully accepted are now laying shattered at my feet. I feel hurt because I thought he respected me more than that. And I feel angry because I don't deserve to be treated like this, and because I have seen others pour themselves into him, more so than I have given of myself, and he is disappointing them as well.

It's hard to love people. I mess up. They mess up. I kick myself for what I do wrong, and yet I know, painfully, that even if I do everything right, people will not necessarily make the right choices. There is no guarantee. I know my sorrow is one God feels more than I could ever bear. I know He has felt the sting of betrayal more profoundly, and more personally, than I experience my hurt. He knows it's hard. He knows that there can be love and acceptance and still a person will walk out, choose his own way, reject what is best for him. Sometimes people reject love for a psuedo-acceptance - actually, most of the time people reject love for psuedo-acceptance.

I'm still angry. We put ourselves on the line. We held out what this person needed most. And we were rejected. The choice was bad, and the consequences are going to be bad. And we're just going to have to watch it happen. It's so hard to love people down here. When you love people you get hurt, mostly because you have to watch them get hurt while knowing it didn't have to be like this. God, I know you know this more than I do. If this is participating in the suffering of Christ, I'm willing. But show me how to do this. Show me how to not let this eat me up inside.

Good day for a walk

Sometimes you have to drive a little bit for a really good walk. I’ve been missing my friend, Kristi, lately. She lives two hours and forty-five minutes away, which is a bit of a drive, yet it is still an easy day-trip, and one I take every now and then. Even though I knew I would not have any extra time this weekend (contest play is the 17th, grades are due on Wednesday, I’m getting evaluated this week), I needed a long outdoor walk with Kristi so badly I threw everything else aside. Kristi, Gracie (a slobbering pit-bull anxious to love everyone she encounters), and I set out on the streets of Charleston this afternoon, jumping over mud puddles (well, Gracie galloped through them), waving to kids and bike riders, making conversation with idle neighbors in their yards, and visiting with some friends. We talked about the weather and our jobs, dogs and home renovations, Bible studies and church, our past and our futures. We romped with Gracie and wore ourselves out, and then after an hour and a half we collapsed on Kristi’s yellow couch and enjoyed the sun pouring through the window. It was a good day for a drive and an even better day for a walk.

another day

I can't go into much detail about today, pending criminal investigation, but I can't stand the smell of burning hair.

Dancing

I don't like dancing. Well, I usually don't like dancing. I love waltzing, square dancing is fun, and I think I would like any sort of dancing that involved only my feet and had prescribed moves. But, when it comes to parties and receptions, dance mixes and strobing lights, I loathe that dance floor, and it is other people who make it so bad. Why can't people just accept someone who doesn't like dancing? Why do they always have to drag you out onto the dance floor? Their intentions are good: they don't want anyone to be left out of the fun. But usually, I end up having less fun that I would at a table talking. It's not that I don't like the people out on the dance floor. It's not that I am trying to snub them. It's not that I am trying to be a loner. I just feel so uncomfortable out on the dance floor sometimes that I want to cry. Does anyone else feel the way I do?

No turning back now

It's official. It's on the web. I got the hand-signed letter in my mail box today. My resignation from teaching high school English is official. I really am leaving. I haven't been prepared for the reactions of those around me. Several weeks ago I told Jane, my professional and spiritual mentor, and I sat in horror as I saw the muscles in her face twitch and tears came to her eyes. I should be the one crying over leaving her, not the other way around. I need her; she doesn't need me. The expressions of bittersweet support have come from several corners of this district, surprising me and embarrassing me as I remember all of my mistakes and believe that there are several very competent individuals out there who could take my place. As others tell me that they are so sad to see me go, I tell them what a hard decision it was to make, that leaving a district that has been so good to me required me to muster a lot of faith. I feel like I should tear up in front of those with whom I work and I love. But I don't. I don't even feel like crying, though the emotion lies deep within. I wonder if they believe me when I say I am sad to go. I wonder what they think when I just say thank you and sit in silence. I hope my gratitude comes through. I hope they know how thankful I am God has brought me here. I hope they know that this place will forever be remembered as a sign of God's grace in my life.