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.

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!