Of blessings at unexpected times

The other night, I came home after a long, tiring day, trudging in from the darkness of the early evening. Our days have become short so quickly; it is pitch black when I get up and pitch black by the time I arrive home. Autumn evenings here are not unpleasant; lately a bright, full moon has graced the eastern sky, and I catch glimpses of it through the trees trembling in the crisp breeze. I’ve missed the freshness is the air; the summer has been too long and hot.

I immediately sank into the couch. I reached for an afghan and the Bible the laid nearby. I curled up and turned to the opening chapter of Luke. I needed to just start reading, find some internal pool of refreshment.

It came almost instantly. Just after the opening of the book, Luke, with all the compassion of a family doctor, begins the chronicle the circumstances of Jesus’ birth. The story starts with an almost expected cast of characters: a righteous couple in crisis. He is a priest. She is a barren woman. Both serve God well, but the very passion that has driven their service seems to have gone unrewarded. They have no idea what is ahead, no clue of the story they are about to stumble into. They are going about their usual business when the time for the annual sacrifice comes about. The lot is cast to see what descendant of Aaron will represent the Israelites in the Holy of Holies. This privilege falls to, of all people, Zacharias.

Can you see the scene? His fellow priests look to him in awe. Zacharias has been accorded the honor of a lifetime. What do they say? Congratulations? Shalom? Or nothing at all? It was a solemn duty to enter the Holy of Holies. A rope was tied around the appointed priest’s ankle, so if he entered and was stuck dead by God because of His anger at the people, or if the offering was found unacceptable, he could be safely removed. Yet this would be the pinnacle of his career.

And in spite of it all, he probably still felt very empty. In that culture, in spite of your class or rank or name, you mattered only if you had a family. A son to carry on your name.

Sure, Zacharias had every reason to be grateful. He’d just been granted the greatest privilege the priesthood could offer. He was honored and respected in the community. But Elizabeth was still barren, and together, it was their deepest sorrow. So he knows he should be happy, and yet, something isn’t quite right.

So Zacharias goes to fulfill his duty. The entire assembly of Israel is watching as he walks through the temple, and into the Holy of Holies, to see what few men’s eyes have ever seen. Not only does he witness this amazing historic place, but he meets… an angel. And Zacharias is, understandably, afraid. What is he thinking now? In this moment of awe, he is probably thinking of his people – of those waiting outside for their annual redemption. What will the angel tell him? Of the sins of the people, of God’s anger? Right now, Zacharias is the representative of his people, and probably assumes God will communicate to him as such.

“But the angel said to him, ‘Do not be afraid, Zacharias, for your prayer is heard; and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth.’”

Zacharias must have blinked. *My* prayer? Gabriel is not referring to Zacharias’ priestly prayer here; he is talking about his very personal prayer, the cry of his heart for a son. And he is using this moment in Zacharias’ life – at what you could say is the height of his service to God – to reveal how God has been miraculously working all along. God had waited for this very moment to announce the ultimate fulfillment of this priest’s heart.

This part of the story seems so surprising. At a time when God was expected to display his glory to one priest for the sake of His people, He did – but not though a single brilliant display of power, but by simply fulfilling the prayer of a righteous couple, and thousands of years of prophecy of the one who would “make straight the way of the Lord.” So it is a supernatural revelation… on a very personal level.

How often I forget that this is how God works. I’ve been so worried lately that my “calling” is going to somehow prevent God from fulfilling the desires of my heart. But sometimes our calling is the very vehicle He uses to show us just how much He cares… about us… personally. I got into politics based on a challenge. A teacher once told me that no one can go into politics and keep their spirit white. That was the first semester of my last year of high school. I’ve lived every day since then in an effort to try to prove him wrong. I accepted a spot at PHC only months later, and the rest, they say, is history. I had been fretting that this calling was somehow isolating me, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that God uses the unlikely circumstances of our calling – and unlikely timing therein – to fulfill His perfect plan, whether it’s what I pictured our not.

And that is a rather comforting thought.

Do not be afraid, for your prayer is heard.

Tagged...

Well this was finally done to me, and now that I’ve figured it out (not that it was terribly complicated, but hey, it’s been a week), I’m actually going to do what Heidi told me to.

The instructions are as follows:

1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Post the fifth sentence or close to it.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag 5 other people to do the same.

I thought this was interesting in light of the fact that I just posted something about accepting my job with Charlie in my little flashback below:

“The job search continues, with new applications out for LA and LC positions, but my favorite at the moment is as historical interpreter at Mount Vernon. Yes, can’t you just see it now? First she writes historical fiction, next she’s in the colonial getup and parading 8th graders around, telling them all about George Washington. Don’t knock it – I used to be one of those 8th graders, and you used to be, too!”

The tagged individuals are now (and we’ll see whom among these actually reads my blog on a consistent basis) Sarah, Ashley (which means she’ll actually have to post!), Jeff, Lissa, and Mark W… so there :-)

Friday "of the days"

Random statement of the day: “Suburban housing developments are conformist political death traps.” (Ad for new Arlington condos in this morning’s Express)

Awesome website of the day: http://www.edinburgh.org

Favorite dream vacation of the day (slash week, slash lifetime): two weeks (or months) in Scotland.

Annoying political issue of the day: Medicaid reconciliation.

Best devotional of the day: Streams in the Desert.

Hill highlight of the day: free lunch thanks to supporters of Title VII and VIII funding, yay for docs and nurses.

Hill lowlight of the day: male coworkers’ long discussion what constitutes “seeing” a girl, versus “dating” a girl, versus being her boyfriend.

Potential pandemic and obnoxious MoveOn.org topic of the day: avian flu.

Favorite Fox News personality of the day: Shepard Smith.

Coolest wardrobe piece of the day: my new Ann Taylor shirt.

Incorrigible Optimist flashback of the day: “I prayed, I thought, I talked to people. By midday I had a peace that had not moved. This morning, I called to accept the position.And I want to be the best darn LC they’ve ever had.I’m finishing with the Subcommittee tomorrow and will be starting in Norwood’s office on Friday. (Yeah, Friday – I know – but the sooner I start, the sooner the paycheck, right?) God is so good.” (from Wednesday, March 16, 2005)

Something completely random…

… but I had to share with the world that I have just named my first piece of legislation! :-D

The Wedding Report #3.5

The dense city lights and urban dwellings have slowly decrescendoed into the wide open farmland of northern Virginia. I am glad to have the snarled traffic and bomb threats behind me. I’m partially soaked from standing in the rain when my building was evacuated; standing at the bus stop didn’t help matters, either. But I am here now with the endless green of the rolling hills before me. Every landscape and vista still seems so familiar, in spite of the fact that I hardly make it out here anymore…

People have built huge homes here, mansions. But as we drive by at this late hour – it’s past seven already – I notice how many of them are clearly an active abode, but the lights are off, their giant halls of wood and marble are silent, no one is home. What is the purpose of such a giant, empty shell? Who would stay at work until well after dark simply to afford to have a house that could comfortably shelter ten people? Does not such misguided devotion leave a modern castle as nothing more than a cave – cold, dark, unfeeling? Many people would like to have beautiful things and a stunning home to put them in, but how many consider that they themselves could fill even the simplest abode with magnificent beauty?

Oh, but of course. And here is the most beautiful house I have seen all day. You cannot see it from the road, except a momentary glimpse through the trees. It seems old, the wood and stone seem to propel the structure into another century, but it is alive. It is nothing more than a cottage compared to the giants I have passed today, but here, there is warmth. There is love. And in a few short days, it will be a home.

As I walk toward the house, the cool early fall air carries the scents of dying leaves and wet dirt and gravel. The door opens, and my senses change entirely: my damp clothes are dried, the rush of cinnamon-and-apple cider fills my nose. Laughter saturates the air, the kind of wholehearted, carefree sound that can make the most afflicted heart believe there is yet hope in the land of the living. There is luggage to be carried and tasks to be accomplished, but the priority now is to greet the loved ones that encircle me. We may not be able to remember when we first met each other, but none of us can forget what we went through together. And we are here to celebrate an amazing happenstance of love. The bride-to-be is dazed, yet glowing, as if part of her still believes this party is for someone else. But there is an unmistakable spark in her eyes that speaks of a love yet to be fulfilled in whole. She waits for the day when she doesn’t have to say goodnight to the one who holds her heart, but it is not far away.

That night I drift to sleep on a floor, speaking in hushed tones to someone I used to share everything with. She is married herself now, and is well down her own path, one I cannot completely empathize with or understand. But to my joy, she is still her, the same girl whom I would talk with while staring into a dark night ceiling – as we are now – and talk about our cares before turning to prayer. She would drift off to sleep while we prayed sometimes. She knows what it is to be comfortable and trusting in the arms of an unseen Father.

Rain is falling so hard on the tin roof of the stable that it’s hard to hear a thing that’s going on. I might be six feet away from the bride and groom, but their voices are lost to the ambient noise. But it’s pretty fair to assume what they’re saying. We’re standing in wedding-day formation, but in jeans and other casual wear, all staring to the center, where the couple nervously fidgets while pretending to place rings on one other’s fingers. Around us, family and friends has the large room in an uproar; long, sheer sheets of white are being draped over the rafters, along with white Christmas lights. There is a table of flowers, a table of candles, so much left to be done. And in only twenty-four hours, it will all come to pass.

I pretend to hold flowers, wonder what they will look like. I wonder if I will cry. Do I even know how real this is?

Later, after dinner, I wander out to the veranda. It’s almost completely dark, but I can still make out the outline of the Blue Ridge, below and before me. The rain is gentler now, but the wind is biting and cold, whipping the fabric of my skirt and wrap against my skin. I don’t mind it at all; I’m just thankful it’s finally fall. Resting my hands against the wet, rough paint of one of the porch posts, I wonder how many people have soaked in the view of a day like this from this very spot.

I am happy to be here. I’m glad for the quiet and the peace, in spite of the craziness of the wedding preparations. This marriage is right, and they will say their vows tomorrow, and the rest will be, quite literally, icing on the cake.

Later, a few of us belt out popular musical tunes from the loft of the barn. Think of me, think of me fondly, when we said goodbye…

We’re driving through the countryside, and I can’t believe what a blur today has been. The house was a flurry of activity with bridesmaids, sisters, mothers, and a bride getting ready. But everything was, at the same time, calm and collected. She sat patiently getting her hair done, smiling – beaming – as it watching herself be transformed before her own eyes. And now she’s squished into the seat in front of me, huge skirt poofing every which way, as she grasps the gorgeous bouquet of cream and red roses. We’ve driven over these unpaved roads before, but not like this. There’s no turning back now. The next time she drives over this path, she will be married. It starts to sink in, and she admits butterflies; so she begins singing. It is the sweetest tune, and she carries it along without reservation. I’ve never heard this song before, because it is her vow; it’s the one she wrote for him, and will be singing to him for the first time ever in a matter of minutes. It’s beautiful. And somewhere between the beginning and the end of the melody, she relaxes.

Was this the same girl whose bed I used to sprawl across as a freshman, when we’d talk about weddings in this far-and-away sense, talk about what colors we wanted, and what we wanted our processional to be?

So much has changed… and so much hasn’t.

The music is softly playing, and I look through the light tool to see the candelabras all brightly lit, making a way down the aisle. The first pair of bridesmaids is walking down. I look at my counterpart and smile. I’m glad I get to walk down the aisle with her, more than anyone else. We step up, waiting for our cue, and my foot tingles slightly where the groom accidentally dropped a table on it the night before. The poor guy. He was mortified.

We are directed to step out, and down the path we walk. There is a soft and holy glow over this place. I hear the echo of my own heels against the stone floor, but I don’t think anyone else notices. They’re already looking behind, to get the first glimpse of her. As they have every right to. We get situated up front, and just in time: she comes down the aisle, with her soft smile and glowing face, walking with deliberateness and strength, and close to her Daddy. But she only has eyes for the man at the end of the aisle.

I tear up. I always wondered what this would be like, and it’s nothing like I expected. It’s nothing but wonderful. For all the years I’ve known her, she’s never looked so happy and at peace. I can’t get over how right it feels. It’s almost like getting to see a piece of heaven before any of our time.

They speak, we sing, they say their vows so everyone can hear. It’s not raining. They exchange rings, the real ones this time, and I strain to see her face from my peculiar angle. We pray, I open my eyes, and they are man and wife. He kisses her tenderly before leading her down the aisle in triumph. We follow them back and throw our arms around them. I tell him he is one unreasonably lucky guy. He agrees.

There is singing and dancing, abundant laughter echoing into the night. And then the time comes to say goodbye. We cheer and shower them with rose petals as they make their way to their car; that car that is so familiar, with so many memories for my own part, and now the two are off to start their own adventure.

Congrats, Pete and Kell. You did it… we did it… God has done it.

The Wedding Report #3: The Sweetest Sauer Event, in pictures

Ash, Christy (Christina?), and me just before picture taking time at the new homestead.

The main event... the beautiful Kelly Anne! Absolutely stunning...

One of my best friends with some random guy I once found on a street corner... I think it was in North Carolina...

The view from the wedding site... a gorgeous fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia...

A little music to set the mood... or not... but we had fun singing at least!
Not a ton of time to write details, except to say God blessed Kelly and Pete and the rest of us with a wonderful day on Sunday. So much to rejoice over! They are now man and wife... so amazing... there will be a larger commentary later, but I am still tired and recovering, so the pictoral review will suffice for now!!

On being a bridesmaid

Since Kelly was kind enough to put up a very sweet post about bridesmaids, and every one of hers in particular, I thought I would put up a brief set of talking points about being a bridesmaid. (Talking points?? Good grief. I’ve been working on the Hill too long…) I just figured it was appropriate as I finish packing for my weekend of sleepovers, rehearsals, preparation, and vow-watching…

I speak of the true bridesmaids, the ones who are maids, as in they are not married. Here we are, helping the bride get ready, and going before her down the aisle to say: “yes, I support the propelling of you into this new way of life that I cannot even begin to comprehend. Have fun.” As if we know or have any idea what we’re talking about. We’re there to condone something we don’t even understand. How does that work?

Of course, you’re glad to be there. You wouldn’t have been asked to stand up in front of all those people if you hadn’t been through a whole lot with at least one of the people saying their vows. But the whole time you’re wondering, what real right do I have to be here, except that I was asked?

And you know, it’s hard work being a bridesmaid. It’s like having all the downers of being involved with a wedding without the long-term benefits. You endure all the worries – will the dress make me look fat? What if I break out the day of the wedding? What if I trip on my dress? What if my heels make me taller than the guy I will be escorted by?

Of course, you know very well in the back of your mind that no one is really going to be looking at you at the wedding. However, you acutely feel that you need to work hard to ensure that none of the above happens, because if it did, people would notice you and you’d be a distraction. Not to mention the fact that however you look will be immortalized in pictures, forever and ever, amen. (This, for the record, is why you volunteer to make a scrapbook for the couple’s wedding present. *grin*) And bridesmaids don’t have the advantage of the beautiful bride glow that seems to cover every possible blemish of a girl on the day of her wedding.

Or do they?

Being a bridesmaid is sort of like serving in an army or volunteering at a soup kitchen… it’s about being a part of something that is bigger than yourself. It’s celebrating something more important than yourself. Laying down your life… sounding familiar?

Perhaps that is why the celebration of marriage is a common analogy in Scripture. No, not just an analogy… it is a future fact. The marriage supper of the Lamb. “The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come!’” It’s an invitation to attend the ultimate wedding ceremony, and not to put ourselves forward and show how great and beautiful we are, but to honor the love that has been undeservingly bestowed by Christ. We are both participants and awed observers. And in all of the joy and festivities and celebration… it is not about us. It is about Him. By His good pleasure He has invited us by His side, and He asks us to stand there and take in His glory.

Kelly seems to think I’ve been a good little bridesmaid because I’ve tried to put my own desires aside to try to make things easier for her. I have tried, but I consider it an honor and a privilege to do so. In any case, I figure it is good practice.

He shall cover thy scars with His fingertips,
And shall be without blemish in His sight.

It's a burth-day!!!!

So these are pictures from the birthday night, on the birthday night. How is that for punctuality?
Here is the story. Not only did the people from my office do a cake for me, with 22 candles to boot (and yes, I managed to blow them all out in one fell swoop), but we also went out after work to Top of the Hill! Sarah managed to put up with me for yet another night... she is so amazing, isn't she, folks??


... and the pathetic (and blessed) thing is that I *expect* Allis to put up with me by now, the poor dear... God has blessed me with the best friends...


... making their pictoral debut on my blog, people from my office!! From left to right are Kathleen (the other full-fledged member of the Women's Caucus, scheduler, and monkey-coordinator extraordinare), Facch (the one who butchers my letters but is still a cool guy), Cathy (Facch's wife, doesn't work in my office, but sort of member of the Women's Caucus by extension), and JP (the one who trained me and has put up with my writing all these months, makes a mean sausage-and-peppers, and all around awesome guy!). Thanks for a fabulous time, everyone!

A Breath Away, A World Apart

Wow, this has been a productive day… not only did I get quite a few letters done after a relatively unproductive week because of everything else that came up, but I came back to the townhouse, cleaned like crazy, did laundry, and finished this story in honor of John Roberts' confirmation today as the seventeenth Chief Justice of the United States.
I started writing this story during the hearings as I watched Jane Roberts sitting behind her husband through the grueling inquisition. I'll admit it: I'm a huge Roberts fan. Love the guy, love his family, I don't know why, but I just have a gut feeling that they're all really amazing people. I started thinking to myself: what would it be like to watch your husband sit under so much scrutiny, to see the man you love attacked by men who hardly knew him – and get away with it?
I acknowledge that this is probably somewhat romanticized, but this is dedicated to the families to sacrifice so much so one of its members can serve their country. Especially for the Roberts family, with prayers for the path ahead, and especially for Mr. Chief Justice: may God grant you great wisdom in leading our country's judiciary in the days to come. Much has been given to you, much will be expected. God bless you.

She is stately in her pressed black suit, sitting with perfect posture just slightly off the black leather cushion of the wood chair. Her hands lay flat across her lap, mindful of the decorum expected in this place with gold-adorned walls and high ceilings. Great men and women have been here; heads of state and foreign dignitaries, former presidents, masters of letters and science - and law. That is the purpose for which she has come today: to see whether this lawyer who has been grilled three dozen times by the Supreme Court, considered a brilliant legal mind of the day, could withstand his last inquisition. This time, there are not nine justices, but eighteen. And this is no simple case of jurisprudence; this concerned history, but more importantly to the lady in black, the outcome of this hearing would change the course of her family. For just two feet in front of her sat her husband, the love of her life, and it was he who was being grilled.

If only I could see his eyes, she thought to herself. Then I would know he was okay. As he answered the questions, his voice was firm and calm. Like always. After all these years, she still had a hard time reading his voice. In many ways, he was still a mystery to her. It was only by looking into his ice-blue eyes that she could tell what he was thinking. She honestly thought it was his only weakness, and she was probably the only person in the world who could read it. Perhaps that was why he married her: because after forty years of life on his own, he had finally found his match, the one who completed him, the one who was both his weakness and his strength.

That had been almost ten years ago. It seemed several lifetimes had transpired in the last three months, much less a decade. When she'd first met him, she knew he was going places, and the last thing she wanted to do was get in the way. She told him that once, two days before their wedding, but he reassured her that he needed her there by his side, and she wanted nothing more than to do that.

But today she could not. She could not stand beside him as he took the verbal beatings from the hostile senators. She couldn't squeeze his hand to let him no that no matter what they said, no matter how they voted, regardless of whether he became chief justice or was never a judge again, she was there and would never leave. But no, she had to sit behind him. Though he was only a breath away, she felt they were a world apart. He was going down a path she couldn't follow, and it was slowly breaking her heart.

She thought of what someone had asked her the day before: was this what you wanted when you married John? It made her think deeply, and she deliberately rolled the question over in her mind. She hadn't married him because she thought he'd be something; she married him because she loved him. She wanted to be with him forever, raise a family together. This wouldn't stand in the way of that. And yet, how could she ever afford her children a normal childhood? They were so young that the only thing they would ever remember was daddy being chief justice. He would be in the news, they would hear people say awful things about him when they didn't even know him. She closed her eyes and shuddered. At least they were too young to understand now. She would hate for them to understand what was going on here in the room as a senator raised his voice. Or for them to see one of those awful commercials. It was hard for her to not tear up as she even thought of it. Every time she heard someone say a harsh word to or about him, it was as if a knife was plunged into her own heart. The awful things people would say about him, just because they disagreed. If only they knew him.

Is this what she wanted? No, not really. She hated that he was in the spotlight. She detested not being able to say anything when people struck against him. Why couldn't she defend him? And she hated the cameras. She had never liked cameras, and John had always teased her about seeing standoffish whenever a lens was in the near vicinity. She knew she still came off that way, and she was sorry for his sake. She didn't want to make him look bad. Maybe when this was over, the camera crews would go away. They next big thing in politics would go on, and maybe life would regain some semblance of normalcy.

Or not.

She took a deep breath and hoped the questioning would end soon. No, this wasn't what she wanted. But it was what she had. She once promised him forever, and that meant for richer or poorer, better or worse, white picket fence in the middle of nowhere or the steps of a cold white marble court. He could be America's chief justice, but he would always be her confidant, her hero, her love.

Rule 26

Yesterday was one of those crazy-go-nuts days.
It wasn’t so much the headlining news that made it crazy; it’s all the stuff that’s affected by that news. Though I must admit, it was one of those earth-shattering moments, one I’ll always remember, when at the osteopathic medicine luncheon, I heard a man across from me, staring at his blackberry, read incredulously: “Tom DeLay has been indicted.”
The only other staffer at the table and I looked at each other. We didn’t have to say anything to communicate the instantaneous panic: oh no. I have to get back to my office. Now.
My second thought was, we’re going to lose in ’06.
But in politics you can’t be rude, not even in times of crisis. So I waited another 20 minutes or so, listened to the presentation, stuck around for a minute, before slipping my card to the leader of the group, thanking him, and heading back toward the office at a trotting pace.
En route, I decided what to tell the interns, how they should answer the calls. I wondered what would need to be done on the resolution my boss was supposed to be bringing to the floor. It had been on and off the calendar about a thousand times, and I had already done research that morning as to why leadership was being difficult about it; but suddenly, that was less of an issue. We were about to elect a new majority leader.

RULE 26 -- TEMPORARY STEP ASIDE OF A MEMBER OF LEADERSHIP WHO IS INDICTED.
A Member of the leadership shall step aside if indicted for a felony for which a sentence of two or more years’ imprisonment may be imposed.
If a Member of the Republican leadership is indicted, the Republican Conference shall meet and elect a Member to temporarily serve in that position.

~~~

By the time I arrived back in the office, instructions had been left for me to accomplish a number of tasks related to the resolution: rewrite parts of Charlie’s speech, fix the talking points, write an email to the cosponsor staff. JP, the LA in charge, was with the lobbyists here for this very resolution several blocks away, so I was thrust into action. I have to admit – it was really cool. I know eyes will roll at this, but I had no idea that student government “crises” would prepare me so well for the real crises of the Hill. I’ve learned that though I have a tendency to overreact, I can direct those energies to get things done. I love working under pressure.
After all that was accomplished, it was a waiting game. Waiting for the okay. Waiting for the schedule. Waiting for the floor announcement.
Against all odds, despite the conference meeting and the fact that all other floor activity was done, the fighting was not in vain: the resolution got to the floor.
It was a tremendous relief, because the lobbyists were here just for these few days, and they really wanted to see it go down, and rightfully so. They aren’t lobbyists in the D.C. sense of the world; they are the grassroots people, many of whom have never seen their capitol city before. I had the opportunity to join them and JP in the gallery to watch the speeches and voice vote. That was very special. I had been in the gallery only once before: I was a junior in high school, fifteen, and there was no floor action at the time. But now, on the “other side,” when I can recognize many of the representatives by face, I was almost giddy having the chance to see them all, watching votes take place, seeing what CSPAN doesn’t show you. I had to contain myself. I didn’t want to look like the newbie that I really am, not to my coworker or the lobbyists. This is supposed to be normal by now. But it was still really neat to see, like the times I would turn the corner walking to the main building for the breakfast shift, and see the monolith coming out of the fog, and re-realize: wow, I can’t believe I am here, I am a part of something bigger than myself.
What a blessing to still have the privilege to say that, to think of all the great men and women who have been in that room, whether we know their names or not; all the legislation that has been passed there; all the great moments and all the low points of contention; the blood, sweat, and tears paid by the staffers who had come before me, whose shoes I may someday try to fill. The joy, the sorrow, the almost tactile sense of history. As if along with Chloe, the muse of history whose form is carved into the clock in the old House chamber, ever recording the events that unfold before her sleepless marble eyes, the ghosts of Madison and Jefferson and all the others are silently watching from the vacant parts of the gallery. Makes me wonder what they would think.
The resolution passed by voice vote; the roll call will be taken sometime today. September 28 was just a reminder of how volatile situations are, how fast life can change… in a single minute.

~~~

And in these days, darkness falls early
People rush home to the ones they love
You better take a fool's advice
And take care of your own
One day they're here, next day they're gone

In a New York minute, everything can change
In a New York minute…

Another birthday

Allis has now joined the ranks of the ancient... here we are this evening walking down the dock in old town Alexandria. Starbucks, fresh air, good times. Happy birthday Allis!

Two White Vans

When I was walking into work on Friday, I looked up through my usual grogginess to a sight that propelled me back into a crystal clear memory. There were two white fifteen passenger vans waiting outside of Rayburn, tended by two clean-cut young men in suits. I nearly stopped in my tracks. For a moment, the office complex was the main building, and I was walking up a side of the circle with luggage in tow. Brian was behind me, carrying the evidence box and asking what our aff case was. I saw Matthew and Christy talking as he loaded the van, and heard Heather stressing out about something. There was a touch of fall on the breeze – but that was as much reality as memory.

Or maybe it was a moot court tournament, and we were preparing to drive through the night, and I would write a song to ease the length of the journey. I’d ponder law school on the drive, and wonder if that should be my post-graduation path.

Debate. It was like football at PHC; the fall sport. It was my life for my last two years of school – two out of the three years I was in college. Almost as much as part of PHC to me as toasting bagels and cooking liquid egg product for students with their eyes swollen shut at 8 am. I was able to be a part – a small part but nonetheless – of this tradition. Does it even qualify as a tradition? Anyway… I miss it. I hate to admit it, but there, I said it. I even miss fighting with Brian. Now he’s so lovestruck you probably couldn’t get him to disagree with anything solong as April was on your side… how the mighty have fallen. All those speaker awards gone to waste. *sigh* Just kidding, pardner.

So those were the thoughts that grew out of the sighting of two white vans. My mind kept drifting back to them all day. Made me smile.

What else to report? Considering my concerns, the weekend wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it might be. Had a blast on Friday night – hit happy hour with coworkers and roomies and discovered Portobello fries (VERY yummy… heavens I’m going veggie!), went to see a fun Hitchcock-inspired foreign film at an indy movie theater downtown (the movie was “Elevator to the Gallows,” have to love that title… can you tell Allis picked?). Saturday was a whirlwind. ESL got underway, and I am very excited about it. I’m not totally confident in my ability to do this, but I figure God will use it regardless. The students are awesome and I can’t wait to get to know them better. The program is still a little chaotic and disorganized and I’m having a hard time restraining the typical Leeann desire to fill any decision-making vacuum… but I’m trying to resist…

After ESL, Sarah and I raced west. I made it in time to help set up for Kelly’s shower, which was very fun. It’s hard to believe that in two weeks, Kelly will be Mrs. Sauer. I’ll be saving a lot on postage for Christmas cards this year, at least *rolls eyes*. Seriously, it was a very fun time. I got to see her house – the pictures don’t do it justice! I teared up walking around, realizing how real this whole thing is. Not that I’m not happy for them – I am elated. It’s just so grown-up… so permanent… and I know it’s supposed to be…

I think a part of it is that I only have one week left of being 21. I’ve LIKED being 21. It’s a nice cusp between being an adult but still respected because of what you’ve accomplished “at your age.” Prideful, I know. But I like being the youngest person in the room. I like people thinking I’m five years older than I am. (I may not in give years, but I like it now!) And once 22 sets in, I mean… the next really big birthday is 30. I guess 25 can be big, but 22… I like being 21. Not that this has exactly been my red-letter year, but I have learned more than I ever thought I would (ever wanted to for that matter). I know I’m just dragging my feet cause I’ve rarely met a change I liked. Maybe it will be good. I can have that much faith. Right?

In the meantime, in case things get too busy between now and then, happy birthday to the following people: Allis (Tuesday), who will at least make me feel young for the week that she and Sarah are two years older than me *grin*, my partner in crime and advisory in politics from time to time, who has somehow learned to put up with me on a constant basis, who I wouldn’t change for the world; Cassidy (Thursday), one of the rare people whose putting up with me has lasted since we were 11 – and if you know me now, you can just imagine me at 11 and have respect that Cassidy still acknowledges my existence, much less is friends with me, Cassidy, who I am so proud of for how she serves her God and her country, soon to be Naval officer, but always the sister of my heart, MOTND; and Czar (Friday)… what to say about Peter, except that if it wasn’t for him, this household would get a LOT more sleep cumulatively *grin*, a great writer, the best object of affliction I have ever known, and I guess I have to be nice to you because Sarah seems to have taken a shining to you. So since you’re going to be a permanent fixture to my life, for better or worse, I guess I wish you a happy birthday, too.

Hope you enjoy this random blog… it is a welcome break from a lot of the heavy stuff that’s been up here lately. Figured I had to remind myself and everyone else that I’m still me. Here’s to another week in the capitol of the free world!

Answer to a Prayer

Well it’s been about a week now that I haven’t posted up just about anything written by me… some blog, right? I guess in the absence of original thoughts I cling to the words of those who have gone before. Someone said once that we read books to remind us that we are not alone, and I guess I’ve felt that way about some of the songs and essay recorded below.

The events of the last week – has it only been a week? I feel I have aged a year – I’ve done a lot of thinking about prayer. Have you ever had those mountaintops with God, when you feel you’re connected with His Word and are truly praying in His will? Those moments of clarity are so precious and rare, but I think God uses those times to quiet our hearts and remind us that He is in control. I know that in those times, God has reminded me on many occasions that there will be times when my perspective will skewed by the cares of this world and my own rampant emotions. I have prayed that during those seasons, God would as a loving Father protect me from myself. As much as we believers can focus on Him, sometimes all it takes is a single string of thoughts to led us down a destructive path… and though we willfully disobey Him at times, I am amazed by how faithfully He cares by saving me from myself. God hasn’t saved me from the heartache – not all of it – but He has spared me from making some very serious mistakes by His gracious hand.

The picture comes to mind from a book written by a wise woman who attends my old church in San Diego. While her book primarily deals with grief and the trials of life, she painted a poignant picture for me, as someone who hasn’t experienced real tragedy in the epic sense, but still struggle with deep heart issues that tear my small reality to shreds.

Imagine the parent of a young child diagnosed with cancer. The little one is too young to understand the disease or its devastating capabilities; she cannot understand why her parents make her go through the machines and medicines that make her feel sick. Yet her mother holds her down, probably weeping herself, assuring her child that she is loved and it will all be alright soon. The child has little concept of what a future of “okay” could be like; she has never experienced it during her conscious existence. But with the gravity of the situation in mind and the end goal in sight, a parent can subject their child to seeming torture, not because the child has done anything wrong, but because they don’t have the entire picture or the means to help themselves.

And so it is with God. He has the eternal scope, while all I can see is the discomfort of my current state. But even this spiritual chemotherapy has a purpose and leads to something I cannot yet see. A friend recently reminded me, “nothing is for nothing in God’s economy.” May I adjust my accounting mechanisms from my happiness to His holiness.

The following is a song I wrote the other night as a reflection of these truths. It is good to remember that we are truly blessed when God answers “no” to some prayers… and that He never refuses a request made in His will.

That is a pretty amazing thing.

My heart in pieces on the floor
Can’t help but think I’ve been here before
How did I get here? I don’t recall how,
You’d think that I’d have learned by now

What can be done for this wayward child
Whose outside is calm but heart too wild
Left lonely on my own stubborn accord
I can call no one but You, my Lord;

Though it seems You’ve veiled the stars to me
You’re preparing my eyes to truly see
When it seems only darkness can abound
It’s in this lostness I am found
Help me in these moments when
When I wonder if You’re there
That this painful providence
Is the answer to a prayer

I told you once that I would go
Wherever You led and I would follow
I asked for strength that was greater than me,
You took my hand so patiently

I don’t know how between now and then
I forgot all the places I have been
With all my Ebenezers left behind
Will you my weary soul remind?

Though it seems You’ve veiled the stars to me
You’re preparing my eyes to truly see
When it seems only darkness can abound
It’s in this lostness I am found
When I can’t see past this passing pain
And wonder if You even care
That this painful providence
Is the answer to a prayer

I know this moment will not last
This communion with You goes too fast
But it’s here that I can truly hope
And I can do more in life than simply cope

What can I do but offer my praise?
Before they begin, you ordain my days
Forgive my doubt when I don’t understand
I surrender myself once again to Your hand

Even when the stars are veiled to me
Your love is preparing my eyes to see
When it seems only darkness can abound
It’s in this lostness I am found
So long as faith can be called faith,
Till Your holy presence I share,
Even in painful providence
Is the answer to a prayer

Can't Lose You

Yet another great lyric by one of the best bands ever, period, Caedmon’s Call. Dedicated to all those who are gone, or nearly gone, but not lost.

So you're gone but I know you're not so far away
You're a call on the phone or a ride on a plane
But that just isn't the same, yeah well…

That's okay because I was never home anyway
So now everyone's evolving and I am just the same
As I was ten years ago, but I don't know
Maybe the simple life is more the way to go
But then again, I’m mostly all alone

'Cause I'm losing everyone
But I know I can't lose you;
And maybe my time will come
But I know I can't lose you

The older I get well the more that life is making sense
And it's similar to traffic of being president
'Cause I’m not the one in control
You grab a hold
I'm just a hammer helping to nail the future down
But it's getting hard making my friends leave town

But maybe I missed the nose right on my face
For what's just past it
And maybe I have the gift that everyone speaks to highly of
Funny how nobody wants it

'Cause I'm losing everyone
But I know I can't lose you;
And maybe my time will come
But I know I can't lose you

Fiat (So Be It)

I have previously cited my admiration of C.S. Lewis on this blog, but I want to reaffirm my affection for him as a human being for having written such a wonderful essay. With many thanks to Elisa, from whom I have shamelessly lifted the text, I offer you this passage on vulnerability, and the cost of love being far less than the cost of not loving. So important for me to remember in days like these. I read this essay before, but I never understood it until today. Lewis says here what I have been trying to say my whole life, but didn’t even know it. It’s hard to understand why people suffer so greatly in ways their fellow man can’t relate to, but the last part of this hits the nail on the head: it is of God’s choosing. Thank you, Master, for the gift of writing, that we may benefit from the knowledge and previous experience of those who have come before.

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements, lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

I believe that the most lawless and inordinate loves are less contrary to God’s will than a self-invited and self-protective lovelessness. It is like hiding the talent in a napkin and for much the same reason. “I knew thee that thou wert a hard man.” Christ did not teach and suffer that we might become, even in the natural loves, more careful of our own happiness. If a man is not uncalculating towards the earthly beloveds whom he has seen, he is none the more likely to be so towards God whom he has not. We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as the way in which they should break, so be it.

Not feeling so incorrigible tonight.

Oh, God… Why?

When the Rain Comes, Third Day, with thanks to Na.

When the rain comes it seems that everyone has gone away
When the night falls you wonder if you shouldn't find someplace
To run and hide, escape the pain
But hiding's such a lonely thing to do

I can't stop the rain from falling down on you again
I can't stop the rain but I will hold you 'til it goes away

When the rain comes you blame it on the things that you have done
When the storm fades you know that rain must fall on everyone
Rest awhile, it'll be alright
No one loves you like I do;

I can't stop the rain from falling down on you again
I can't stop the rain but I will hold you 'til it goes away

When the rain comes… I will hold you…

Burth-day!

My two best friends, out in Georgetown celebrating Sarah's 23rd!!! Another fun picture here, linked since the blogger's photo program is being a pain...

Autumn Dreams

The first harbinger of fall this year was neither the metamorphosis of leaves on the trees nor their falling to the ground. It was not frost on a window, for it is still warm enough in the daytime to warrant air conditioning. No, it was something far less romantic but nonetheless meaningful, even if just for me. Fall started coming about four weeks ago when the guys in the office started talking about fantasy football.

It was a dramatic, turncoat change. Baseball, which had captivated them for months on end, suddenly lost its luster, and football was every other word on their lips. I like football, but since we don’t have a television, I knew it wouldn’t be partaking much of it this year. But the talk did take me back: my mind wandered to Sunday afternoons, lounging around with my Dad watching games as Mom made special snacks. There were the memories of high school football games, when autumn (so much as it is in San Diego) meant donning a uniform and leading a marching band onto the field, when the evenings were just cool enough so wearing wool wasn’t miserable. I remember the laughing and talking in the stands and the blasting pep tunes and the joy of winning, and of course, the excitement of our third-quarter break. And band competitions, of course. Bus rides and the rush of the performance and awards ceremonies. Winning the Mira Mesa Tournament in 2000, the smell of freshly trodden wet grass.

And then the quieter falls in Purcellville. The first I don’t remember much of; that was the few months of culture shock. But I do have a few vague recollections of being in the Dorm 1 lounge watching college football on cold November Saturdays. I would bring my books in to study, but I’d get wrapped up watching the games. And talking to other people, eventually. Once people stopped being scared of me just because I wasn’t homeschooled. I remember curling up in the corner of one of those brick-cushioned sofas, wearing a comfortably oversized sweater and jeans, and just existing.

Being who I was then, I may never have guessed that during the autumn of 2004, the only football I would see would be playing on an eight-inch television screen in the President’s Oregon campaign headquarters. Halfbacks and phone banking.

But I digress too much into the realm of memory. I want to talk about this autumn. After the guys started on their football, I went hiking in Mason Neck park a little south of here, a forest by the marshes. Leaves were starting to fall from the trees, their yellow hue staccatoing the ground. And then, just after Labor Day, the weather snapped. It’s been marvelous. The days have been nothing short of perfect, and the evenings and mornings have an edge of crispness to them that is refreshing and delicious. Stepping out into the day is no longer a matter of groaning. Even when sleepy, a smile comes to my face with that first breath of fresh air.

The other day, I noticed that the underside of a local tree had turned completely crimson. Outside our window, the tree that bloomed so fabulously in spring is slowly fading to a muted gold. This weekend we bought some chrysanthemums, harvest yellow and blood red, which have now been planted where our summer perennials left off. I wish we had a way to get some sort of wreath on our door. But it is nice as it is, with the new color striking against the deep green of the ivy, the only plants that have responded well to my care.

Autumn officially starts in just over a week. It will be the last first season in our townhouse, as we are quickly approaching our one year anniversary of moving (and re-signing our lease!). I am anxious to see how the neighborhood changes, how my porch looks covered with leaves. I can’t wait to see “our kids” dressed up in little Halloween costumes – wow, this is the first year I’ll have to get candy for kids! That is a sobering thought.

I am also excited about more serious things, such as being a bridesmaid for the first time. Kelly’s wedding is in early October, and in my heart, I will have to give away another one of my friends. It is not a bad thing, not by a long shot, but it is a change, and one I cannot fully understand. But that is alright… it is a season, right? But what a celebration it will be. I am so proud of both her and Pete and am honored that God has allowed me to be a part of their lives. It is a special privilege to be able to stand up with them as they say their vows, an honor I’m not sure I’m entirely ready for, but Kelly’s known me long enough to know what she’s getting into.

I’m entering into the exciting and intimidating endeavor of teaching an ESL reading class, which I volunteered for thinking that I could assist a teacher, not actually BE one… but I said I was willing to do anything and they don’t seem worried by my lack of qualifications, so I’m going with the flow. “We’ll train you,” they tell me. That comes Saturday. Gulp.

So my Saturday mornings will consist of teaching, which will probably keep me in town for the rest of the year. Which will be nice in one sense. I hope to spend at least a couple Saturday afternoons exploring around the home front; Mount Vernon, Manassas battlefield, Annapolis, maybe make a trip in to Harper’s Ferry as the holidays approach. I have to finish Chris and Felicity’s afghan before their January nuptials. And I should finish the one for our living room, too.

Work will be stressful because we’re going to be in session a lot longer than expected, but that will be alright. While the Roberts confirmation will be going on Senate-side, the House side will be scrambling to fix Medicaid, address hurricane relief efforts, and, of course, gas prices. We’ll hear plenty about the confirmation, too. Deo volente I’ll get my stack down to a more manageable level and tend to more interesting issues in the office.

So what do I want this autumn? I want to walk in D.C. under fall leaves with my friends, feel the whip of the breeze off the Tidal Basin. I want to learn that being alone is as okay as not being alone. I want to sit back and watch life unfold, for there is so much around me I miss in my busy-work. I want to keep up my professional stamina, do my job better than ever to the glory of God. I want to learn by teaching and fill my house with the scent of spiced cider warming on the stove. I want to rest in change. I want to be refined for the spring that will come.

These are my wishes for this fall. We shall see what my Abba’s autumn dreams are for me.

A prayer against weakness

O Spirit of God,
Help my infirmities; when I am pressed down with a load of sorrow,
Perplexed and knowing not what to do, slandered and persecuted,
Made to feel the weight of the cross, help me, I pray Thee.
If Thou seest in me any wrong thing encouraged,
Any evil desire cherished,
Any delight that is not Thy delight,
Any habit that grieves Thee,
Any nest of sin in my heart,
Then grant me the kiss of Thy forgiveness,
And teach my feet to walk the way of Thy commandments;
Deliver me from carking care
And make me a happy, holy person.

Help me to walk the separated life with firm and brave step,
And to wrestle successfully against weakness,
Teach me to laud, adore, and magnify Thee with the music of Heaven,
And make me a perfume of praiseful gratitude to Thee.
I do not crouch at Thy feet as a slave before a tyrant,
But exult before Thee as a son with a father,
Give me power to live as Thy child in all my actions
And to exercise sonship by conquering self.

Preserve me from the intoxication that comes of prosperity;
Sober me when I am glad with a joy that comes not from Thee.
Lead me safely on to the Eternal Kingdom,
Not asking whether the road be rough or smooth;
I request only to see the face of Him I love,
To be content with bread to eat,
With raiment to put on,
If I can be brought to Thy house in peace.

Hope and hurricanes

While Katrina did not physically pass over Washington D.C., it seems to be semi-permanently situated over the bounds of the District.
The timing of the storm was such as it hit the last Monday before recess was over. Most senators and representatives were in their home districts, boasting of the busy legislative agenda for the coming months: immigration reform, gun rights legislation, stem cell funding, Medicaid reform, and a myriad of pet projects that would never get off the ground – but they made for good press pieces. Gas prices were rising, but a manageable concern for staff. Then, the hurricane hit, and within hours of the initial assessments, Hill phone lines were ringing off the hook with angry constituents. The first complaint was gas prices: fuel exceeded $6 per gallon in Atlanta the day after the event. Once oil reserves were released and the “right to gas” was reestablished, another wave of calls came in. The speeches started virtually the same way: “Now, I don’t know if anyone else has called to tell you this, but the situation down in New Orleans is really a mess… (no kidding?)… it’s really inexcusable the government didn’t prevent this and isn’t doing more… the President and Congress are all responsible for what happened!” By the end of Friday, our staff assistant was ready to string himself up by the longest phone cord in the office. I was disgusted by these people, too. Don’t they get it? We are people up here, too; we see the devastation, we know help isn’t getting there fast enough, but even the federal government can’t snap their fingers and make it happen! If that were the case there wouldn’t be cancer or nuclear weapons or expired flu vaccines! This was not in the control of man, nor can the consequences be contained by man! Don’t you understand? We may be a first-world country, the world superpower, but there is something greater than us!
And that is what scared the politicians – on both sides, mind you – but especially the liberals.
Liberals are satisfied to guarantee external outcomes to bad situations. You don’t have a job? Have welfare. No healthcare? We have Medicaid and Medicare and the state programs. You don’t have morality? We’ll have government tell you what’s right and wrong and how we can peaceably live in society together. That way, we can cover up the true hue of human nature, look around, and congratulate ourselves on being pretty good people.
Funny thing is, when houses are crushed, the power goes out, bodies are floating in the water, and survival becomes an issue, human nature cannot be masked.
On Friday, Nancy Pelosi gave a less-than-rousing speech that included the sickeningly Mrs. Lovejoy-esque statement of “think of the children… they will now see rainstorms and think their homes will be washed away if the government doesn’t get there soon enough… think of the children!” Emergency session was called just to get FEMA the money they needed for the weekend and it turned into gross political grandstanding. But I defy Nancy Pelosi to go tell the rooftop shooters aiming at hospital evacuees that guns are bad, they should be against the law, and think of the children. No policy can cover that up. People were shooting people down there even in a time when we’re supposed to come together because that is how some people react to dire situations. Under all the social norms, people, in one way or another, are as wild as the hurricane that drove them to madness.
And neither can be externally controlled by man. And to a man who has no other hope, that is terrifying.

As I was waiting for Heather down in the basement of Cannon today, before walking up to the Christian college grad luncheon, I started reading the much-ignored plaques describing the plaster casts around the room. They’re all facsimiles of statues that adorn the exterior façade of the Capitol. One particularly caught my attention.
In the middle is America, radiant, with an eagle at her feet with the trademark arrows and olive branches in his talons. America is leaning on an altar with the inscription July 4, 1776 with a copy of the Declaration on top. To her right is Justice, bearing the Constitution. And on her left is Hope. Hope is positioned a little lower than the other two, but not unequal in stature; she is reaching up to America as if to grant her more grace, and she is leaning on an anchor.
Hope was a striking picture to me. I’ve not seen her very much in classical art or otherwise, so I don’t know much of the history. But just the idea of an anchor being her symbol was thought-provoking. We use the word “hope” so lightly, and are gravely disappointed when it does not come through. But what is the weight of the anchor we’re using? What is the measure of hope we are hoping?
Most people are willing enough to admit that people let us down, that man is fallible. So we set up systems, processes, governments to try to take human error out of things. So long as they work alright for the vast majority of people, we’re good with the status quo. But someone has to write, interpret, and execute those laws. And they’re people. Those crying out about the failure of hurricane relief may be right. But I can’t help but wonder if there’s a sense in which folks are simply crying out against the very failure they see in themselves – their inability to be their own salvation. We have been reminded of our own mortality and our vulnerability to the elements this week. For those whose anchor was the goodness of man or the soundness of government, hope was uprooted. Hope has failed because they were using an anchor of driftwood in a stormy sea.
I do not exclude myself from those who have hoped in error. I have put my hope in people many times. And every time, without exception, I have been disappointed. Outcomes have ranged from mild disillusionment to outright betrayal, but when weighed in the scale, all were found wanting… of no fault of their own. I was wrong to toss them overboard and think they would hold me in the first place; they have no staying power in and of themselves. And yet when it happened, I still despaired. We all do. We question others, we question ourselves and our plans. And yet how rarely we think to question what we use as an anchor. We would do well too. Especially when you consider this:

When God made his promise to Abraham, since there was no one greater for him to swear by, he swore by himself, saying, "I will surely bless you and give you many descendants." And so after waiting patiently, Abraham received what was promised. Men swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument. Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. (Hebrews 6:13-18)

An anchor for the soul. Isn’t that what we all need so desperately? It’s there – Christ has already given it to those of us who are His children – and how often I’d rather select anything else as our anchor. And when I cast a wistful eye to The Anchor, I lull myself into thinking it will be no different from the others. A foolish and inaccurate assumption indeed.
My Hope and steadfast Anchor will not change. But there are so many people who do not know Him. So many of them are suffering right now because every other hope has disappointed; nothing for sure has endured. They are angry at the government because it has fallen through, and maybe they are right. My heart just breaks for those who think that I work in the temporal realm for a be-all-end-all entity.

As I was walking to the Metro last week, I believe it was Thursday, I was overcome with a sense of sadness and powerlessness. The news had been on all day, and none of it was good. Angry constituents were calling and acting like it was by our will alone that people were suffering. We had no answers. I was pondering how people would react if they knew how many 21 and 22-year-olds were running this catch-all government of theirs. Reflecting on our inexperience and naiveté, I shook my head for a moment.
We didn’t sign up for this part, I muttered to the sky.
And then the thought struck me. Government wasn’t created for the times that everything is going alright, job approval ratings are good, and no constituents are writing in because life is just that good. Nor was government created to give me a job to write to the constituents who aren’t happy. It was created for the crisis, for when all seemed lost. This was exactly what government was supposed to do – even if it couldn’t do it perfectly. I think I understood social contract theory for the first time on that day.
Order and authority are good gifts God saw fit to give mankind, but like so many other things, they are only a shadow of Himself. They help give us an idea of what He is like, but to truly know, we must pursue Him. If somehow by serving in government, I can point people to that higher and perfect Authority, to the Provider who does not disappoint, then my time is well spent. Perhaps then they will see that He is not only the Anchor in the hurricane, but He is the sail and the gentle wind that directs us all the days of our lives… whether we recognize Him or not.

Virginia Beach

How can one put into words the oasis created by three perfect days far away from the ringing of Hill phones and angry constituents, no house chores to do, and time allotted specifically for doing nothing? I spent more time in the last three days with sand between my toes than I did sleeping. Well, sleeping when NOT on the beach, because I did some of that, too. It was my first experience in the Atlantic proper, and I must say I was duly impressed. The water temperature was somewhere approaching 80 and the air temperature was a basically dry 84 with a nice breeze. That’s the analytical way to say what the beach bums call “totally awesome!”
Sarah and I drove to the Leichliter’s on Friday night, making good time after the initial DC-Friday-afternoon traffic. We made it there by about 8:30 and spent the evening chatting and eating ice cream. Then we were up-and-at-‘em to hit the beach on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, we decided to take the long way there – but a couple minutes less in the sun probably didn’t hurt us. We arrived on the beach, which wasn’t nearly as populated as one might expect on a Labor Day weekend, and our time went something like this: set up camp, swim, lay on the beach, read, get too warm, swim, lay on beach, take a walk, get warm, swim, ad infinitum. And it was fantastic.
Having been raised in a beach town, it was hard to wrap my mind around the idea of going to the beach as a vacation. Beaches were as much a part of my upbringing as my ABCs. Going to Aruba or Tahiti or has never really appealed to me. But this experience has convinced me of my previous inadequacy of understanding. Beaches are a good thing. I’d still rather go to Scotland or Ireland any day, but I now at least understand why someone would want to go on a tropical vacation.
The next day was much the same, but sadly, with less swimming. Some rip currents came up and the lifeguards weren’t letting people in past knee-height. Pansies. I knew the lifeguards were pansies on the first day when I was just swimming around trying to see where my ocean swimming skills are anymore, and I was just getting out past the initial layer of waves when I was called in. Now I know they don’t want people messing around, but come on, I was not more than 30 strokes from shore – and in a depth not much more than my height! I call that pa-tha-tic. Out in California we have ocean swimmers who will go out a mile or two off shore and then swim back, and our lifeguards don’t complain! They just save you if you need it! I thought that was the point. Oh well.
So in the absence of an ability to get in the water, we did a lot more walking around on Sunday. We visited the little shops, grabbed smoothies, got hit on in the smoothie shop, and walked up and down the boardwalk a couple times. So we got in our exercise. We had dinner at this neat little place called Abbey Road Pub and Restaurant, a Beatles-themed British place not far from the water. I would gripe about the fact that they refused our coupon except for the fact that they had the best crab cakes I’ve ever had. And really good nachos. Except for the fact that in Virginia Beach, the waiters don’t seem to have a concept of an “appetizer” at something that comes BEFORE the main course – both nights, our appetizer came with our meal. So much for appeasing!
We came back pretty tired and sunburned on Sunday night, but with enough energy to chat it up plenty with Mark and Erin. Enough to cause plenty of trouble. *wry grin* Sometimes it’s just good to remember that we still have our edge. With the way Erin was taking notes this weekend I thought I was a regular walking quote wall, but that is what I get for opening my big fat mouth… (and as Sarah would say, “I was about to say that!”)
Today, we all sat down to breakfast, had and a good laugh over the fact that I wasn’t the one making breakfast. Mark commented that it was time they returned the favor after the years I made people breakfast in college. Hmm. Wondering if that means I can start calling in the favors all over the country at some point… anyway, Mark then set his mind on studying, so we girls had some good girl talk. It was very fun to just have a relaxing time to putz around. And wonderful to see Erin. Always good to see evidence up close and personal that dreams do still come true. I remember back when I would go up to Erin’s room and we would just yell to the rafters about our issues… *chuckle* I’m glad those days are over for her sake! And it’s nice to remember that married people can still be cool and friendly. So thanks for extending your floor space to us, guys! We had a wonderful time.
And Sarah and I just had fun existing. We were content most of the time to just lie down and read in turn, just vegging and relishing it. (No pun intended…) We kept dressing alike and saying a lot of things at the same time, but what else is new. I’m just so thankful to be blessed with such friends.
So it was a marvelous weekend. I can’t believe boss will be back tomorrow, and now there’s two vacancies on the Supreme Court. I’m glad we won’t be dealing with it directly, but I’m sure our constituents will think we are. *sigh* I hope the House can adjourn without the Senate, otherwise, this could be a wild ride.
But for now, I’ll just enjoy the remaining 10 hours or so of my vacation.
Good night, world. :)

Virginia Beach Pics!

The rant you'll miss till next week

I was going to post a diatribe about what an awful time this is to be working in D.C., but my thoughts were too emotional and I am too close to it at the moment, so hopefully I’ll be able to comment at a later time about just how stupid people can be.
In the meantime, here is a brain teaser for you social scientist-mathematic types. *wry grin*
Take two stressed-out D.C. ladies, add a trunkful of luggage, a full bag of mostly junk food, a Camry, an energy crisis, two cases of CDs, and directions to Virginia Beach, divide by stress and the cares of this world, multiply by however many miles an hour the road will allow…
What does it add up to? Stay tuned – the answer will come next week!

Lost Enough, Part II

Last night, I got angry.
I am not an angry person by nature, but if there is one thing that arouses my ire, it is a circumstance in which I lose something – physically misplace it – and have to go to what seems like the ends of the earth in my search. And what happens in the process is that all the subliminal stuff that has been bothering me suddenly bubbles to the surface. It’s like my poli-sci teacher in community college used to say (among other things): “when the pot boils, the scum rises to the top.”
So last night, I was pretty scummy.
I was trying to locate my brand-new digital camera, my graduation present from my parents. I had been keeping it in my closet, since that’s my only real storage for such little things, but when I looked, it was not in any of its usual locations. Concern rose to fear when I started tearing through my entire wardrobe (most of my sweaters, etc. are folded and I thought it could be in there somewhere). Fear gave way to a sense of helplessness and mild terror. In my head I kept telling myself, “Leeann, it’s just a thing – it’s a physical thing. It can always be replaced. At least your townhouse isn’t flooded to the second-story ceiling like some folks’ are right now.” But I kept musing to myself about how careless, thoughtless, and irresponsible I was – and I was angry at myself for my foolishness. Losing the camera felt like icing on the cake for a lot of other cares weighing on my mind, situations in which I feel completely incapable of doing anything. Or if I am capable of something, I am only capable of messing it up. I told Sarah at one point, when I was curled up in my closet, that I couldn’t do anything right. Faithful Sarah, ever the optimist to inspire my optimism, assured me that it couldn’t be far away and we would find it.
About a half hour later, after looking under furniture and though clothes and downstairs closets, no trace of the camera was found. I despaired, dreading telling my parents about the experience because I knew I had let them down by being so irresponsible with such a valued gift. The one thing I had asked for as a graduation present, and something my Mom worked particularly hard to research. I know they would hardly be truly upset about it, but I was mad enough for the three of us. My inadequacy was no longer hidden in the recesses of my being; it was laid wide open for the world to see. The same transparency that couldn’t stop my face from reflecting inner turmoil now shed light on my imperfection. I had a giant sign on my forehead, and it read I AM NOT IN CONTROL.
Sarah continued to be very matter-of-fact about the whole thing. “Well, either someone picked it up accidentally or it’s in one of the cars.”
One of the cars. Right. Because I would leave a camera to jostle around on the floor of one of my roommate’s cars. And if someone visiting had accidentally picked up my camera, surely they would have realized the error by now.
I sat back and realized how utterly selfish I was being, allowing my circumstance to cloud my every perception to the point that it was impacting the lives of others. An entire metropolis is under water at the moment, families have lost everything, and here I am whining about a camera.
It’s all about perspective.
About this time, Sarah’s words jogged a vague recollection in my mind of having my camera in Allis’ car – I had no idea for what, or when it was – but I thought it was worth a shot.
So I went out, in my t-shirt and drunk penguin pajama pants (trust me: if you’d seen them you know what I was talking about), key in hand. I sat in the driver’s seat, reached over, and popped the glove box.
Therein was the camera.
I’ll admit it; there were tears in my eyes. The camera had been there the whole time, and all my sifting through my belongings hadn’t done a thing in the effort to find it. (Though it did make me reorganize and set a few things aside for donation.) It was hidden in an unlikely place, one I didn’t believe held the answer. And yet it did.
As I trudged back to my townhouse, camera in tow, I pondered a moment.
Okay, Lord. I’m guessing there is more to this than reminding me to keep a perspective of physical things and to curb my selfishness.
That would be correct.
What is it, then?
Only this, My child: in times when you feel lost, you would do well to listen to others. To Me and the people I put in your life. That is all.
‘Tis true. If I had written Sarah’s idea off completely, I wouldn’t have my camera right now. I didn’t believe her at first, but ultimately, recognizing the possibility led me to trust enough to even go out to the car.
Seeing parallels to other areas of life here. Very interesting.
So after all that, I turned on some music, and the Fernando Ortega version of “Lord of Eternity” (below) came on. And I reflected on how God brings me to these points, in different areas and at different times, all with His painstaking care… just to show me that sign on my forehead is right. I am not in control. But He gives me cause to rejoice over that fact and recognize what a privilege it is to be free of the cares of this world, to be a daughter of the King. I thank God for these feelings of lostness; it clears my mind of the delusion that I knew where I was going in the first place.
So here I am, Lord, lost enough to let myself be led. Let down Your mighty hand to take mine, and I will follow. Here we go.

Lost Enough

For everyone who is feeling this at the moment, those who have yet to trod this path, with grateful thanks to those who have gone before and written their stories. Thank you, God, for leading me to where I'm lost enough to let myself be led.

You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth
Who are afraid of being left by those we love
And who get hardended by the hurt;
Do You remember when You lived down here where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread?
Did You forget about us after You had flown away
Well I memorized every word You said,
Still I’m so scared I’m holding my breath…
While You’re up there just playing hard to get...

You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that’s not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then;
Did You ever know loneliness, Did You ever know need
Do You remember just how long a night can get?
When You were barely holding on, and Your friends all fall asleep
And You don’t see the blood that’s running in Your sweat
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted
While You’re up there just playing hard to get?

And I know You bore our sorrows
I know You feel our pain
And I know that it would not hurt any less
Even if it could be explained;
And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most
And after I have figured this out somehow
All I really need to know…

Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time;
We can’t see what’s ahead
And we cannot get free of what we’ve left behind…
I’m reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears
All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret;
I can’t see how You’re leading me, unless You’ve led me here,
To where I’m lost enough to let myself be led…

And so, You’ve been here all along, I guess;
It’s just Your ways and You are just plain hard to get.