Why I Heart Recess

A couple housekeeping items to begin with. Many thanks to Kelly Sau… er… Langner (at least for another few weeks) for the blog facelift. Apparently, planning a wedding and moving isn’t enough to keep this girl busy. *grin* The new look highlights a picture from the coastline of Scotland (above) and a hunter green trim. No, it’s not black. Yes, I’m sure.

Next, major kudos, congrats, and praises to God for Chris becoming the assistant campaign manager for Michael Golden, who is running for State Delegate down in the greater Springfield area. So I guess we’ll see him again sometime after November 2. I have a baggie of Emergen-C waiting for you if you happen to stop by. Gotta have the campaign essentials!

Third item has to deal with my absence of late. It's called recess and all the computer work done during said time. I had the blessing of having something of a mini-vacation this weekend; spent Thursday with errands and working from home, then spent Friday and Saturday in Purcellville, helping Kelly move and Naomi celebrate her birthday. Also had coffee with Faith and saw Sweet Home Alabama.

I have to confess, though, I think the best part of the weekend was simply getting to drive. When I was driving out to Purcellville on Friday afternoon, it was cloudy and cool. I turned up some Carolyn Dawn Johnson as my surroundings went from citified to suburban to rural. Just as you start descending down 7 west, just past Tyson’s, there’s a moment that the valley is situated just so all you see are the trees around you and the deep blue hills straight ahead. Makes a girl feel like she could drive for days.

As more and more grass came into view, I rolled the windows down and let it whip through my hair. The air was fresh, and, dare I say it, crisp. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is late August and I believe we are quickly approaching the actual end of summer and running to the golden embrace of autumn. I will do a more comprehensive post about the glories of fall in the near future, but this is just a rambling post, so all coherent thoughts are to be kept to an absolute minimum.

I also enjoyed being out at the house Kelly and Kate are sitting. It’s out in the middle of a huge field of… something… I’m not sure what, but it is green and seemingly endless. When it rained yesterday, it was so perfect. I felt so inspired. I could’ve set up camp there – oh, if only it had been a cabin! – and written for days. But I’d get fired eventually. This whole responsibility thing is highly overrated. I enjoyed freedom while I could, with chai and a lot of laughter.

So many thanks to Sarah for leaving me the keys. Well, I guess I should thank her sister for getting married in Ohio, but I’ll stick with thanking Sarah. Who gets home tonight. Yay!!

In other news, done a lot of thinking about looking for grace lately – in others’ lives as well as my own. We’re so prone to be critical, and I know I have a particular vulnerability to harp on others’ faults. I’m also prone to look at how I think I am not blessed – or to put that in more common terms, coveting what I don’t have. But God has given us everything we need to be complete in Him, and the very fact that He has redeemed us is grounds for infinite praise. May I never be so focused on what I don’t have that I miss the very rich reality God has given His all to provide for me. I am so blessed… “and I feel like I’ve found my way… I thank God for all I’ve been given… at the end of every day… I have been blessed… with so much more than I deserve…”

But actually, no, I’m not listening to country. The music of choice at the moment is a bit retro for me. I’m reverting back to my high school habit of… smooth jazz. Yes, some people call it elevator music. I happen to like it. It reminds me of the easygoing lifestyle of San Diego. And it features some very talented instrumentalists. You have to have an ear for it, I guess. I think it’s nice. And there’s not nearly as many commercials as on other stations.

Well, here’s to another week. Think I am going to take a short nap before evening service. Just five days till the big Labor Day excursion to lovely Virginia Beach! Atlantic Ocean, here we come!

The Offensive Language of Rights

Of all the authors that shaped my young mind, the strongest influence from almost as early as I can remember was C.S. Lewis.
In one of his hallmark works, “The Great Divorce,” Lewis gives readers a Dante-like tour through Heaven and Hell, but with an amazing candor that completely blows all other Heaven-Hell stories out of the water because of its applicability to life now, always a Lewis touchstone. I don’t remember when I first read this particular exchange, but I was probably not more than ten or eleven years old. It’s the dialogue between a Spirit (resident of Heaven who was a man) and a Ghost (a man), and it made a distinct impression on me.
“Who’s ‘going on?’... I’m asking for nothing but my rights. You may think you can put me down… but I got to have my rights same as you, see?”
“Oh no. It’s not so bad as that. I haven’t got my rights, or I should not be here. You will not get yours either. You’ll get something far better. Never fear.”


We are a rights-based culture, and that worked for us – for a while.
After all, what is wrong with the right to a free press? The right to self-government? Even better: the most fundamental, the first to be mentioned in the Declaration of Independence – the right to life?
The language changed a little as time went on, but the message was no less poignant. “Freedom of speech and expression; freedom of every person to worship God in his own way; freedom from want; freedom from fear.” No “rights” are cited here, but isn’t that term pretty much interchangeable with freedom in this context?
In comparison even to these later-established rights, our modern usage of the term has so cheapened any notion of a right that it’s almost unrecognizable. We have animal rights groups, and the “right to the government paying for my retirement” (the shorthand of that is Social Security). One recent letter I received in the office went so far as to say, “I have the right to affordable gasoline.” Oh, really.
More common: “You have no right to say that to me.”
“You have the right to remain silent.” (I wish more people realized this outside the context of being arrested, for the record.)
But if God gave us these rights, why have they resulted in such division, self-centeredness, and malice?


Let’s go back to our nation's beginning. Was Thomas Jefferson right?
Before all the Jefferson-philes and Jefferson-haters alike have a collective heart attack that I would even ask such a question, let me get to the point: were all men endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights?
I did a search for the word “right” in Scripture. It is used in the NKJ in only three ways: to describe a direction or side (“The righteous right hand…”), to distinguish from wrong (“the wise man does what is right”), and to describe a “right” in the terms I’ve been using. Funny thing is it’s used in the first two senses about 90 percent time. The use of “right” in any other sense is only utilized 15 times throughout the Bible. When used, it is mostly in the context of rights granted under human law (“What right have I still to cry out anymore to the king?” 2 Samuel 19:28, or a right of inheritance or redemption).
Only in the New Testament are God-granted rights mentioned. The first is in John 1: “but as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God.”
The only thorough discussion of the rights of a believer occurs in 1 Corinthians 9. “Do we have no right to eat and drink?... do we have no right to take along a believing wife, as do also the other apostles?... or is it only Barnabas and I who have no right to refrain from working?... nevertheless we have not used this right, but endure all things lest we hinder the gospel of Christ.”
So there is a surprising little about rights in Scripture. Even God-given rights are to be taken with a light grasp. We must be willing to let them go. An absolute claim to our rights is tantamount to an affront to God’s sovereignty. So the famous preamble to the Declaration of Independence… the one we herald as a part of our nation’s Christian heritage… is it really just a bunch of enlightenment gobbily-goop after all? The only right we have is, by God's grace, to become His children. That is, as it should be, the Alpha and Omega of our searching.
Really, why do we ask for our rights once we know what we truly deserve? What do we think we are owed?
After all, we will get something far better… never fear.

Prove Me Wrong

In case any of you care or were wondering, this is what I will be singing in my head on the way home tonight... this Caedmon's Call has a great mix of the harsh reality of life while being upbeat, at least when its sung... always encouraging to know we don't have to be right as long as we trust the One who is.

Sometimes I fear
Maybe I'm not chosen
You've hardened my heart like Pharaoh
And that would explain why life is so hard for me
And I am sad Esau hated
Crying against what's fated
Saying “Father, please, is there any left for me?”

Cast out my doubts, please prove me wrong
'Cause these demons can be so headstrong;
Make my walls fall, please prove me wrong
'Cause this resentment's been building
Burn them up with Your fire so strong
If You can before I bail, please prove me wrong

Sometimes I fear maybe this is all just a game
Our friends and our families all play too
To harness the young and give some comfort to the old

Don't let my doubts prove true
Draw me close and hold me near to You
Keep me still until the day You…

Cast out my doubts, and You prove me wrong
'Cause these demons can be so headstrong;
Make my walls fall, please prove me wrong
'Cause this resentment's been building
You burn them up with Your fire so strong
If You can before I bail, please prove me wrong

Contentment

A good reminder for a Monday morning... at least, I know I needed it.

Allow yourself to complain of nothing, not even of the weather.
Never picture yourself to yourself under any circumstances in which you are not.
Never compare your own lot with that of another.
Never allow yourself to dwell on the wish that this or that had been, or were, otherwise than it was, or is. God Almighty loves you better and more wisely than you do yourself.
Never dwell on the morrow. Remember that it is God's, not yours. The heaviest part of sorrow often is to look forward to it. 'The Lord will provide.'
~E. B. Pusey

Unseen Eyes

Random thoughts on a Saturday night on coping with optimism in the face of other people's realities.

Tell me I can still want adventure
That I’ve not outgrown these dreams
How else can I remind myself
This life is more than it seems

It’s okay that they call me crazy
Yeah, I’m used to being the fool
‘Cause what use is freedom when you’re content
To play by your enemy’s rules?

I’d rather hope in what I cannot see
Than be lulled to sleep by this world’s façade
There is still hurt and the lies still cut deep
As long as I walk on this sod,
But I’d rather go out on faith while I can
For it won’t always be this way;
Learning to trust these unseen eyes
That will lead me Home someday

Well no character ever knows the end
And I’m not the one holding this pen
But does that mean my fate is to just sit and wait
Waiting for my part to end?

Oh I could just turn my heart into stone
But I’ve seen what that does to a soul
Maybe it’s worth putting my heart on the line
To learn what it means to be whole

I’d rather hope in what I cannot see
Than be lulled to sleep by this world’s façade
There is still hurt and the lies still cut deep
As long as I walk on this sod,
But I’d rather go out on faith while I can
For it won’t always be this way;
Learning to trust these unseen eyes
That will lead me Home someday

Screen on the Green

As the sun sinks low on the multicolor horizon, a wind moves across the long, green lawn. The breeze is neither cool nor warm, but simply moves the air enough to relieve those who have congregated on their blankets and lawn chairs. They are an exuberant bunch, and even though it is the end of a Monday work day, there seems to be a carefree air this evening. Perhaps the perfection of the weather after a long heat wave has put everyone in a good mood; maybe it’s the fact that there’s not a suit or tie to be seen. Are they excited because tonight’s movie is a favorite of theirs, or simply glad to be relaxing with friend? There are probably a myriad of reasons that these few hundred seem so happy, but it brings an almost down-home small-town feeling to Washington D.C.
It’s a perfect theater, really. The giant screen is set up against the Capitol building, which is shining bright white against the deepening indigo of the early twilight. Inside the Rotunda, the lights are on, but few staffers are working tonight – if any. The sidewalks of the Mall seem particularly sparse, probably because the tourists have gone home after a long day of sight-seeing and believe D.C. gets dangerous at night. Those who do meander up the way are mostly natives, obvious despite their dressed-down attire. The few visitors are obvious too, and they periodically ask a native to take a picture of them with the Smithsonian Castle in the background. The red brick spires seem to reach toward the setting sun. No one is hanging around the museums lining the green; they have been closed for well over an hour. Only a few sparse surveillance police circle those perimeters.
In the west, the breeze has picked up the flags that encircle the Washington Monument. They are small from a distance, but you can still distinguish them waving proudly in the breeze – sentinels protecting a national treasure. The monument seems to point to the sunset, a masterpiece in progress, shifting from peach and yellow to purple and blue, with the wispy gray-white clouds shining though it all. Day is waning, and at last the dying light rests on the verdant treetops across the city, as if to crown them in celebration of another day.
More people have populated the lawn now, meeting up with friends or establishing their own spot on the grass. From time to time, folks pop up from sitting with a cell phone on one ear and their hands in the air. They dance and move until their target notices their location, and then all is well. It’s quite a sight to see. The twenty-something crowd refreshes itself with water, soda, and snacks. Some seem to be professionals at this process, having borne picnic baskets and coolers; others have haphazardly thrown some things together in a grocery bag or two. But regardless of their experience level, all seem to be enjoying themselves, being outside on this fine summer night.
The sighting of the first star in the sky signals the beginning of the movie. Folks take their seats and start hooting their excitement. Festivities begin with an old Loony Tunes episode, propelling viewers back to their childhood memories of Saturday morning cartoons of yesteryear. After the cartoon, a distinct tune starts to play, and half the crowd rushes to its feet and engages in some sort of ceremonial pre-show dance. It’s quite a sight to see, really. Looking around, you can’t help but wonder if that’s Pelosi’s staff assistant jumping up and down and smiling at one of DeLay’s legislative correspondents, who is making an equal fool of themselves nearby. You never know in a town like this, and in this moment, there is freedom in not knowing.
So night falls on the District of Columbia. Most folks call it Washington; some call it as the capitol of the free world. But for a fortunate few, tonight, it is their town, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of grace, growth, and the piano that was almost mine

Well, my plan was that I was going to post pictures today me sitting at the newest arrival to my house: a beautiful circa-1900 Story & Clark oak upright piano. But unfortunately, it never got here.

Of course, there is a story behind this.

It all started innocently enough last week, with an email. Allis alerted me to the presence of a piano on the free part of Craig’s List. The advertisement basically said, if you can get it out of here, its yours. I’ve wanted a piano so badly, especially since being home and remembering how to improvise, and I thought this could be a great opportunity. Unfortunately, by the time I emailed, someone else had claimed it, but I was next on the list. I thought, oh well, and figured if it was God’s will, the person before me wouldn’t pick it up.

Well, I received an email early Friday morning. The original people didn’t come get it, could I do it this weekend?

I shot into a frenzy, trying to organize a truck and four guys to move the piano sometime on Saturday. Due to the graciousness of my friends, I was able to assemble a group and planned to pick up the piano on Saturday.

Everything seemed to be going well, and I was so excited about getting a piano of my very own, I could hardly believe it. And in the end, I didn’t, really. I hardly slept on Friday night between excitement and knowing something had to go wrong. Sarah dismissed my thoughts the next morning. “You have the guys and the truck – what could possibly go wrong?”

What indeed?

I went out hiking Saturday morning, and got back with just enough time to pick up the furniture dolly from Christina and meet up with Chris, Paul, and Josh. Josh is a friend of Paul’s who was hanging out with him on Saturday and randomly decided he wanted to help me move my piano. I was very glad to have another set of hands in the process and thought it especially kind of someone who didn’t know me at all.

We headed out to Oakton, just shy of a half-hour drive from my townhouse. After some uncertainty, we found the house and entered in to find the piano. According to the owner, it hadn’t been played since her son left the house – apparently some decades ago. She insisted I sit down and play. The keys were smooth and resilient under my fingers – in beautiful shape for a century-old piano. The strings were in good shape. It wasn’t even that out of tune. It was big, but it was gorgeous, and I was enthralled.

Until we tried to move it.

The last estimate put the weight of the solid-oak piece around 1000 pounds. Why they would make a 1000 pound piano back at the turn-of-the-century when I’m sure it was a lot harder to move things, I do not know. The point was, the most the piano could be lifted off the ground was about 3 inches – enough to get on the dolly, but a far cry from getting it on the truck – or off, for that matter.

We conferred, we thought, we pondered and schemed for an hour. (Meanwhile, I am making Paul and Josh late for a party they’re going to, but they are insisting that we’re going to figure this out.) We call the local UHauls; all their trailers and ramps are rented. The piano owner is getting nervous and worried about cooking dinner. The end of the matter was simply this: I needed professional help. (Most of us knew that already, but I’m speaking in relation to the piano…)

I received information from the lady about some piano movers from who she got quotes. So I’m looking at a couple hundred dollars to get this monolith moved to my place. But considering the quality and condition of the piano, and the backs of my faithful volunteers, I figured, it’s worth it.

I came back slightly defeated, but optimistic that it would still get done. I scoped out the area around my complex to see the best entrance for the movers to bring the instrument. There aren’t a whole lot of options save stairs – and quite a few of them. Considering the bulkiness of the piano, I became increasingly concerned. Was this feasible, even for professionals? I called and reserved a moving time anyway. I wanted the piano.

But the breaking point came earlier today, courtesy of Felicity’s architectural insight. For those of you who have not been to my place, you should know that it IS nice, but it is an older complex, and our two stories are over a one-floor apartment. Felicity brought up the point that a piano that was unable to be moved by four guys and a furniture dolly may after some time (or not that long at all) very well stress the floor and make it give way. To be honest, I’d thought of it before; I just didn’t dwell on it because I wanted it to work. I went down to the rental office to ask, and they weren’t sure but said that maintenance would need to know the weight, etc.

Walking back from the office, I put the pieces together. A couple hundred dollars to move the piano, plus a tuning. When I move eventually, it would pose a similar hassle – even if I was giving it away, like these folks were. And if it DID fall through the floor… well… that would be a mess, to put it lightly. It wasn’t going to work.

I’m a bit sad. I wanted a piano, and this was a striking instrument and a wonderful opportunity. I dreamed of writing music again, of brushing up on my sight reading and playing carols at Christmastime. But it was not meant to be.

I’m sort of glad all this happened, though, even if it is a hope deferred. Because I did learn an important lesson, standing outside the house in Oakton and listening to Josh – someone I don’t even know – talking about how this was an opportunity to accept grace. It may sound a bit corny in the retelling, but it meant a lot at the time. Especially considering that I’d dragged these poor guys out here and made some late for their evening plans. But in the end, they assured me it was not for nothing. At least I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering, “I wonder if I could have gotten that piano somehow…” I am blessed to know that there were people who cared enough to be there in the first place. And it was an opportunity to accept grace, which is an essential part of leaning to give it. I trust that this, too, happened for a reason in the scheme of eternity that I may never understand, but it is well.

And though I think Josh thought I was freaking out, if I may say so myself, I was able to handle myself decently well. I was disappointed, but I didn’t get worked up and emotional like I usually do in such a situation. Maybe I am growing up and turning into an adult after all. Maybe this is part of the strength we’re supposed to find “day by day and with each passing moment.” Even for something as silly as wanting a piano. But it is well.

Two-Hour Romance

This is a ponderation several weeks in the making. I think the primary catalyst was my introduction to “While You Were Sleeping.” It’s a very cute movie, and for some reason I’d missed it until now. Everyone just assumed I had seen it, and perhaps rightfully so. According to close friends and even casual readers of this blog, my entire persona apparently screams, “Hi, I’ve seen every romantic comedy in the world and except my life to follow those exact parameters!” Au contraire. But I digress too soon.
The second reason I was thinking about this was because of a situation between two friends of mine. They have both suffered, and continue to suffer, a great deal for one another. Why? Because they love each other. Because they are each other’s match, soul mate, kindred spirit, however you want to put it. But they have chosen to love each other, and as decent human beings, they have fought for each other when the necessity arose. Oh, it’s not been a fairy tale romance, by the world’s standards – and even if it was, they’ve not reached “ever after” yet – yet I respect their love more than any other I have seen among my peers.
As an aside, why do we use that phrase “fairy tale romance” anyway? Maybe I read folks wrong, but when people use that phrase, they seem to mean that everything was perfect for the couple prancing down the primrose path of love, straight to the altar, the white picket fence, and the 2.5 kids. When did we forget that in fairy tales, there are dragons and dangers? That rescues needed to be undertaken and executed? That there were good guys and bad guys, and all of that is what made the story in the first place?
So it is in that sense that they have had a fairy tale romance, to the degree that it made me think, “Wow. I’ll have to write their story some day.” What better tribute, I thought, to lives well-lived than a story that reflected their hardships and victories? Even better, a screenplay – a movie, to share it with the world.
But then I stopped myself. Not because of privacy concerns, or because I thought they’d be embarrassed. Instead, I realized that condensing their story into a two-hour time slot was impossible. I would defy any writer of any ability to do an adequate, much less outstanding, job of capturing this romance for public consumption. They don’t fit into the romantic comedy mold. There have been times of silence and action in turn, punctuated by moments of utter joy and deepest sorrow. But when you condense those years into two hours, you lose some of the meaning and richness and texture of it. You’d lose a lot, actually.
And that is the reason why romantic movies are unrealistic. It’s not unrealistic because someone gets swept off their feet or their dreams come true or someone realizes what is most important in life. I would venture to say that the above happens every day… but it is after a long process of working up to that point. It almost never happens spontaneously or without cause. There was a circumstance, a decision, something that drove them to that realization. The background of that could have taken weeks. Months. Years.
Case and point: “While You Were Sleeping.” If you’ve seen it, you will hopefully understand what I’m talking about here. At the beginning, when Lucy is observing the daily heart throb, it makes you wonder how long she watched him before the day of their fateful meeting (if you could call it that). How many days or months did she live in her dream world? How many times did she talk herself out of this adolescent crush… and then succumb to it again? How many times had she convinced herself that, no, really, today was the day she would talk to him? We don’t know; we’re never told, and it passes in an instant before everything changes.
Conversely, at the end of the movie, we see Lucy again in her booth, after the wedding fiasco and walking away from the trail of well-meaning deception she left behind. We see no evidence that she has had any hope that Jack with come after her. All we know is that they knew each other for two weeks, and bam, she’s back and life is normal and boring again. She’s just going through her routine, and marinating about how close she was to having everything she wanted.
We have no clue how long it took Jack to get his act together. Yeah, it could’ve been the next day. But it probably wasn’t. Was it the next week, the next month? A half-year later?
The point is, real life is what happens between the cuts of a movie. In reality, we can’t gloss over the miserable and lonely times with a montage of him looking lonely and her looking lonely as sappy music swells in the background. My friends can’t fast forward to the part where everything does turn out alright. No one can. That doesn’t mean it won’t happen; it means it’s not here yet. In our instant-gratification culture, we surround ourselves with notions that something’s wrong if everything doesn’t work out at this instant or that it still hasn’t worked out after all this time. It is not so. The times “off-camera” are when we are called to work out our salvation by trusting God when nothing is certain. We are naturally inclined to cry out to God in distress, and when we are close enough to God, I believe we are equally liable to recognize His goodness in times of joy or success. It’s the indefinite, lackluster, in-between times that seem darkest because we don’t see God as having anything to do with it. But he does. Not just with love stories, but with life stories. That’s why we’re not just raptured up to Heaven when we believe. God has things to work out yet, in and through us.
And this is the fun part: God is a better storyteller than any human writer. Unlike Hollywood producers, He does care about the in-between times when no one else is watching. He is concerned not just with the end, but the means. And He’ll do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, to get His kids where they need to be.
I’m preaching to myself as much as anyone else, but to those who are in those less-than-glamorous part of your story, there is reason and purpose to this. The months will end, the years will pass, and someday you will look back and wonder at what was accomplished in your own heart and life in this time when you thought nothing important was going on.
After all… would you really want to settle for a pre-packaged, predictable, television-rerun, two-hour romance?

He Will Carry Me

by Mark Schultz

I've found myself struggling for words lately, but this song came to mind as I was getting ready to leave work. I think these lyrics say it all. There's pain, there's acknowledgement of the hope to come, but in the meantime… He will carry me.

I call, You hear me, I’ve lost it all
And it’s more than I can bear, I feel so empty;
You’re strong, I’m weary
I’m holdin’ on, but I feel like givin’ in
But still, You’re with me

And even though I’m walkin’ through
The valley of the shadow
I will hold tight to the hand of Him
Whose love will comfort me;
And when all hope is gone
And I’ve been wounded in the battle
He is all the strength that I will ever need
He will carry me

I know I’m broken
But You alone can mend this heart of mine
You’re always with me
And even though I feel so lonely,
Like I’ve never been before
You never said it would be easy
But You said you’d see me through the storm

And even though I’m walkin’ through
The valley of the shadow
I will hold tight to the hand of Him
Whose love will comfort me;
And when all hope is gone
And I’ve been wounded in the battle
He is all the strength that I will ever need
He will carry me.

Update / A Fear Overcome / Preview

Coming back to a pile of mail from a week of vacation, even in recess, has prevented me from many updates. Plus, we have a very fun houseguest... Felicity soon-to-be Holt, freshly from her two-month mission trip to Africa and surprise engagement in Paris, who cooked us a very fine traditional English Sunday meal today. So we've been having fun, shopping and Old Town Alexandria and the like.
One of the highlights was the girls talking me into doing something I never thought I'd do... especially considering my fear of needles and pain... but after months of pressure and a handmade graduation gift from a friend, I finally got my ears pierced! No one's worse for the wear, except for the nail marks on Sarah's hands. :-P What else are friends for, than to hold your hands in times of dexterity like that? Good times.
In spite of my online absence, I have had a lot of thoughts going through my mind... upcoming posts include a diatribe on romantic movies, thoughts on autumn (even though Kelly already stole THAT idea... :-P), and reasons why legislative recess is one of the best ideas in the world. Stay tuned…

How I Spent My Summer Vacation, Part II

Well, on the Sunday plane ride, I’d written a more complete tail regarding the remainder of my trip… but the Internet’s been down all week at the townhouse, and while it’s up now, I’ve realized the entry was a little long and probably uninteresting to most… so I’m going in a different direction, though I may come back through and add a little here and there.
So last you heard, I was hanging out with the Sabo brothers on Wednesday night. I didn’t have many plans for Thursday, but was working on finalizing Kelly’s bridal shower invitations. I also took a break to read in the sunshine around midday, and that’s when Christine called. We’ve not seen each other for about a year and a half, embarrassing to say, so we decided to meet at the venerable Jamba Juice down the mesa from my house. (For those of you not from the southwest, that’s like saying “down the small, flat mountain on which I live to the overdeveloped canyon below.”) We enjoyed yummy smoothies, swapped pictures and stories, and of course a lot of laughs. She’s getting married, not for a while, but the plans are definitely in the works. I understood why so many PHCers were getting in a marital state of mind, but when my friends that went to Berkeley start heading that direction… yeah, it is rather interesting. :-D
That evening, my folks and I went up to Escondido to the Hacienda de la Vega, a pretty spiffy Mexican restaurant with terrific outdoor seating and giant margaritas (see pictures below). The building that surrounds the courtyard is something like an old ranchera or mission, with a thatched-roof porch and rustic wood furniture. Really yummy food too. My parents discovered it a couple months ago and we had a terrific time. When we got back to the homestead I introduced them to Phantom of the Opera (the movie version of the musical) which made me 3/3 on the week for positive movie introductions (the others were The Village and Hitch). It still amazes me when I think about it what a riveting story this is, the genius of Gaston Leroux. Pretty amazing to come up with such a mystery/detective/ghost/love story; I wish I had that talent.
I got to see two of my adopted moms on Friday, and that was a blast. They wanted to know every detail of my life in DC, which took about 20 minutes, so we spent the rest of the time talking about everyone else – which was a good thing! It was very fun to be with them. After lunch with them and my Mom, I cruised through my old high school haunt, the inimitable T-Town, to pick up a friend for some quality hang-out time making frappicinos and debate at my house. *wry smile* Yes, debate… if it hadn’t been for Jason’s preparation of me through middle and high school, I don’t think I could have done debate in college. What else are big brothers good for?
Did a traditional Walker dinner of barbequed chicken, which some of your adopted Virginians have had the opportunity to sample on one of my families’ visits. Dad and I played music, worked on a harmony part for Irish Linen. Oh yes, and we watched that movie. (“I just want to remind the American people that they still have two out of three branches of the government working for them, and that ain’t bad…”)
And then there was Saturday… which was one of those days you could tell from the start that you never wanted it to end. We all woke up fairly early, went down to Ocean Beach to walk down the Pacific’s longest pier, saw what the fishermen were pulling in, watched the waves, found a great breakfast spot (also pictured below), perused some of the shops on the main boulevard. It was a very San Diego morning.
We tended to chores in the afternoon, holing up in the house to escape the heat, even though it’s nothing like Virginia right now… but we don’t have air conditioning, so we improvise. We turned on one of the TV movie stations and some good, funny stuff was on. We had a seafood dinner (YAY for seafood!) and cruised down to Sunset Cliffs for the sunset. That’s such a San Diego culture thing, and maybe it’s all up and down the coast – it probably is – but people congregate to watch the sun sink into the ocean. That night it was particularly cool, because there was a fog bank over the horizon, so the sun disappeared into the clouds, reappeared, then went into the ocean. Once it set, its last rays were still hitting the high tops of the giant thunderheads over the desert to the east. It was a terrific sight.
Church and a simple lunch at home were all I had time for before I had to leave for the airport on Sunday. It now seems like the time was so short, but I am thankful to have had the time at all. I am struck by a realization of how blessed I am to have such deep roots... of how God has so clearly and gently lead me… and how His past goodness is an Ebenezer of His faithfulness to come.
Because He is seated on the throne. And nothing on earth will change that.
… and behold, a throne stood in Heaven, with One seated on the throne… Revelation 4:2

Pictures from Home!

Since our Internet is temporarily down in the townhouse and I couldn't wait to post SOMETHING from my trip, here are some pictures! I wrote up a long blog entry on the plane but I think it was mostly boring... and pictures are worth a thousand words anyway, right? *grin* I'm also allowed to post these now because Ashley is IN California at present and can't be made jealous by said pictures. The ones of me and my folks are from a fun Mexican restaurant in Escondido, and the last picture is the view from the breakfast place we found after wandering down Ocean Beach on Saturday morning. Enjoy!