Why we shouldn't have survived...

I copied this from an old email I came across in my archives. For some reason, it particularly resonated with me this evening, so I decided to share it with you. Enjoy...

According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's or even the early 80's, probably shouldn't have survived.

Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint.

We had no childproof lids or locks on medicine bottles, doors, or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets.

Not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking ...

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.

We would play or sleep in the back of a station wagon or a van with no restraint at all.

Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle.

We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing.

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.

We would spend hours building go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. No one was able to reach us all day.

No cell phones. Unthinkable!

We did not have PlayStations, Nintendo 64 or X-Boxes. No 299 cable channels, DVDs or surround sound. No personal cell phones, personal computers or Internet chat rooms.

We had friends! We went outside and found them.

We played dodge ball, and sometimes, the ball would really hurt.

We fell out of trees, got cut and broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents. They were accidents. No one was to blame but us. Remember accidents?

We had fights and punched each other and got black and blue and learned to get over it.

We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and, although we were told it would happen, most of use did not put out any eyes.

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's home and knocked on the door, or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them.

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Most of us didn't even bother with sports organized and monitored by adults, we did it ourselves.

Some students weren't as smart as others, so they failed a grade and were held back to repeat the same grade.

Tests were not adjusted for any reason.

Our actions were our own. Consequences were expected.

The idea of parents bailing us out if we got in trouble in school or broke a law was unheard of. They actually sided with the school or the law. Imagine that!

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors, ever.

We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility --- and we learned how to deal with it.

My, how times have changed.

It's good to have a fan, but it's better to have a friend

'nuff said.

It's good to have a fan

Need I say more? :)

Encouragement comes in many forms

Was having a bit of a rough time the other night when this song came on the radio...

O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things’ll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things’ll get brighter

Someday we’ll get it together and we’ll get it undone
Someday when the world is much brighter
Someday we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun
Someday when the world is much lighter

O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things’ll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things’ll get brighter
Right now right now

(1970) lyrics by stan vincent

But I'm not bitter

Wake-Up Call

To sink into you
and sleep for a long time.
To lie against you,
breathing,
sleeping,
lost,
free,
where I wanted to be.
Nowhere.
With you.

But you woke up first
and left while my eyes were still closed,
And I woke up alone.

Now I'm wide awake.
And I realize that there's more to see
when I have my eyes open.

I'm wide awake.
The sun's up and it's in my eyes.
I won't close them again
without seeing.
And you want me to sleep with you again.
I realize that that's all I was doing with you.
Sleeping.
I'm not tired anymore.
Not anymore.
I'm on a caffeine high
that might just last for the rest of my life.

-from "How to Heal the Hurt by Hating"
(a scathingly funny book) by Anita Liberty
reprinted without permission

Things I've learned

1) Sometimes, size does matter.

2) They like me! They really like me!

3) Never underestimate the importance of a kitchen.

Oh, you would like me to elaborate, would you?...
All right then, here we go...

1) Sometimes, size does matter.
When one is accustomed to living in a 4-bedroom house with a 198 sq. ft. home office and an even larger bedroom, not to mention a kitchen chock-full of cabinet space, plus an additional 50 sq. ft. of storage space in the garage (and that was just my share of the available space), it is a rude awakening to find that what is available for rent in one's price bracket is generally only about half as much space (if that). The first place I looked at in my housing quest was an old Victorian on the West side of Flip Flop. The square footage of the two rooms together only added up to 240 sq. ft. and both the kitchen and living room were lacking in space and already crowded with other tenants' "stuff." So, despite the fact that I really liked the folks living there, and I thought we'd be a good match as co-habiters, I had to turn it down because it just wasn't enough space. The next place I looked at was an "economy" apartment--2 small bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, tiny bathroom, and no living room whatsoever. Total square footage?... 323 sq. ft. You get the picture. It was quite discouraging. I really wanted to find a place where I could live comfortably without having to give up half of my furniture and a large portion of my "stuff."

2) They like me! They really like me!
The Victorian was, perhaps, a good place to have begun my quest. The size issue was discouraging, but that was a needed reality check. I needed to realize, right from the beginning, that I was going to have to scale down. That helped to prepare me a bit for what was ahead. But the bigger reason that was a good starting place was that it was good for my ego. (Mind you, being asked to leave my home after 15 years of tenancy was no picnic, so I deserved a little boost.) Before I even saw the place I had a half-hour phone conversation with Peter, the other downstairs tenant--the man I would've been sharing the kitchen, bath and living room with, had I chosen to move in. He called me from Germany to conduct this "interview" and we were both so enjoying the conversation that we ended up chatting for over 30 minutes. The next day I went to see the house and meet the upstairs housemates. Again, we "hit it off." I liked the people so much that I was almost willing to overlook the more practical aspects. They offered me the rooms and I told them I needed to think about it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the physical impossibility of fitting myself (my stuff) into that house. I dreaded calling to tell them "no" because I had liked them so much and I had been so hopeful that this would somehow work out. I got up the nerve to make the call, thanked them for their time and for offering the place to me, and explained that it simply wasn't enough space for me. Within 24 hours I got another call from Peter, this time from England. He left a message saying that he'd gotten word that I'd turned down the place due to space issues, and offered to share his office space with me, if that would help. He was extremely accommodating, and, in fact did say, "Everybody likes you and we think you'd make a nice housemate." I still had to turn him down. A few extra sq. feet wasn't going to cut it. I wanted someplace I could bring my couches and a kitchen with enough cupboard space for all of my dishes, glasses and baking pans. (Not to mention closet space.) But, as I continued my quest, I realized that, as tenants go, I'm a catch! (Not just as a tenant, actually, but we've already covered that. :] ) Seriously though--a mature single female with no pets, two steady jobs and 15 years of tenancy at my most recent residence--who could ask for more?! Add to that the fact that I'm one person looking for a two-bedroom place and you've got a winning combination. Almost every place I looked at was offered to me without my even filling out an application. A couple were willing to drop the rent a bit for me as well. If it weren't for the fact that each place I looked at seemed to be smaller or somehow more depressing than the last, I would've been very hopeful. Just when it seemed I was doomed to live somewhere tiny or depressing, I suddenly had two good options to choose from. This brings us to lesson #3...

3) Never underestimate the importance of a kitchen.
As I continued on my quest, the common theme I kept coming back to, although I wasn't aware of it at first, was "Can I see myself entertaining here?" "Can I cook here?" It wasn't until I was considering a somewhat odd, but nonetheless nice (and _affordable_) mother-in-law apartment, that I realized how important it was/is to me to have a kitchen. This place was equipped with a hot plate, microwave and toaster oven, but no real oven--no place to bake cookies or banana bread or my now-legendary "Resurrection cake." How could I properly entertain if I didn't have a real kitchen? I had to turn it down. In the end, just before I landed here, I was offered two sunny rooms in a beautiful shared home with two really wonderful people who, again, I hit it off with right away. This time, space wasn't so much of an issue, as the rooms were decent sized, the closets were large, and there was some additional storage space available in the garage. Yes, I would've had to leave my couches behind, as the shared rooms of the house were already furnished, but the kids would've been happy to keep them, I'm sure. Yet, as beautiful as the house was (and the view--wow!) and as much as I liked the people, it still didn't feel quite right. I thought about it. I prayed about it. I asked other people to pray about it for me. And, eventually, it came down to this--I couldn't picture myself cooking in their kitchen. It was very much _their_ kitchen, with just one or two cupboards available for the incoming tenant and I just couldn't picture myself at home there. And so, I turned it down and ended up here, in my very own 2-bedroom apartment. I'm still adjusting to apartment living, but I'm thoroughly enjoying the freedom of having my own place, my own space, my own kitchen!! I'm not unpacked yet, but I've made the kitchen my #1 priority and I am making progress. So, if you're in the area, please, drop on by for a cup of tea, a bottle of beer or a glass of wine. We can sit on the balcony and smell the ocean air. Cheers!

Back to Me

After a too long, emotionally unhealthy, self-worth-draining relationship and an all-consuming emotionally exhausting move from my home of 15 years, I feel that I may finally be getting back to me. I still feel sad when I think of him and I can’t seem to help wanting him to hurt, to long for me, to regret losing me, to--I don’t know--I want to know that he cares, that I matter to him. But then that’s been part of the problem all along, hasn’t it? I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could just let go and move on, but I never have been good at letting go.

And then there’s the landlady… I’d like to be able to rise above the anger and the hurt, the hatred I feel towards her for all of this--again, to let go and move on--but I’m not there yet. Give me time…

And in the midst of all of this, she turns up again—the one who hurt me deeply, who betrayed our friendship and never apologized, never even acknowledged that she hurt me. And I am painfully aware, once again, that I have not forgiven her. I have tried to let go of that hurt as well, but have been unsuccessful.

Why must I have to deal with all of this all at once? It's too much. I am exhausted--physically and emotionally. I want to have a good hard cry and then sleep for a month, and yet, I've already lost a whole month of my summer to this blasted move. I swear it is only by the grace of God that I'm still here.

It is finished

I moved the rest of my crap, er, my worldly posessions out of the old house today and said my final "good-byes." J (the beloved former housemate) showed up, miraculously, in time to walk through-- commenting on this, remembering that-- and say good-bye with me. Reminding me, once again, that God's timing is perfect. That I'm not alone in this. That He has been with me every step of the way, even when it felt like I was alone.

I truly, truly could not have gotten through this without the help of my family and my community of friends. A big gi-normous "thank you" to all of you!

Must sleep now--I'm exhausted!

8/8/88

I have the fondest memory of August 8, 1988. I was dating, at the time, the cutest boy. He worked at Flip Flop's #1 breakfast joint. He was the boy that all the girls wanted to date and he was dating ME. That alone is enough to make me smile when I think back on it, but the reason I associate him with 8/8/88 is that upon returning home from work that day, I found waiting for me, a bunch of flowers with a note saying, "I noticed your flowers were wilting so I brought you some new ones." And the note was dated "8/8/88." I'm not sure why I still remember that, but I do. It's funny the things I choose to hold on to, both in memory and tangible reality. I've had to come face-to-face with a whole lot of that over the past couple weeks and it has been bittersweet. SO many memories. SO much of my life lived in that house. I'm finding it difficult to let go. I almost feel like the house is holding on to _me_. There's no one there anymore to really care about the house. No one who has any history with it. The landlady doesn't care about it. She just cares about making money by charging as much rent as possible to as many people as possible, while doing as little as possible to maintain the place. It's not right--the house deserves to be treated better than that. But it's completely out of my hands now.

Hmm, I hadn't intended for this to go in that direction, but it is still consuming me. Unfortunately, I'm not all moved out yet. And until I am, I fear that it will continue to consume my thoughts, my time and my energy. It's weird, I keep getting these mental images from the movie, "Pacific Heights." Did you ever see that movie?... Michael Keaton, Melanie Griffith, Matthew Modine... Anyway, I keep imagining my old house deteriorating from neglect, which is actually quite different from what happened in the movie, but the "kids" (at the old house) keep leaving food out & open and there's already been a rat sighting just outside the house. They might as well just invite him in. But I think the main reason I keep having these weird "Pacific Heights" flashes is that when I first moved into my new apt, I pulled out the cutting board and found, not only crumbs, but a dead cockroach. I think the cockroaches in the movie freaked me out more than anything, and never having encountered one in my own living space until now, I think finding the dead one on my cutting board sufficiently freaked me out. But enough about that.

Well, my battery is about to die and I need to get some sleep, so I'll close now and share more about my new home later.

Good night dear readers.

LOVE > REVENGE

On August 7, 1994, I met Justin Stevens for the first time. It was his 2Xth birthday and it was the beginning of my journey back to Christ. He was leading a ministry called Graceland. It was a Bible study for musicians, misfits and outcasts, people who had had bad experiences with "organized religion" and people who had simply had little or no interest in "church." The group met on Sunday nights in a warehouse about a 2-hour drive from home. My housemate/new best friend, Marci, had invited me. We were, at that time, attached at the hip. So, despite my anti-religion bias, I went along. I still remember the first time I entered that warehouse. We were late. As we opened the door I heard live music. The band was lit, but not brightly, while the rest of the warehouse was mostly dark, illuminated only the overhead projector, which was projecting the song lyrics onto the wall behind the band. We slipped in and found a spot on the floor, where there were large pillows to sit on. As I sat there, reading the lyrics projected on the wall, as the band played and the voices sang, tears began to well up in my eyes and stream down my face. I couldn't explain it. I didn't understand what was happening. God was chipping away at the cold hard armor I had built up around my heart. It was a process that took awhile--weeks, months, years. Perhaps He's still working on it. But it began that night in that warehouse called Graceland. And I continue to be grateful to Justin for his part in that--for allowing God to use him in that way. And I continue to be inspired by Justin--his faith, his passion, and how he lives that out. And I'm happy to call him friend.

Tonight, exactly eleven years after that fateful, wonderful night, Justin and his band, Tremolo, came to lead worship and share their message of "Love > Revenge" with the church community of Vintage Faith. Wow. "The world doesn't need another rock band." Justin declared. Pretty radical statement coming from the leader of a rock band, wouldn't you say? And then he went on to tell us about a really revolutionary idea...

>> "Love is the Greatest Revenge" asks the question: If you could show LOVE to your world by taking REVENGE against all that destroys it, how would you do it? Tremolo believes in this question so much that it has allotted 50% of its record royalties to the LOVE>REVENGE FUND, a benevolent fund controlled by all who purchase the album. These owners will subsequently control how this money is used; to show love by taking revenge on all that destroys (AIDS, Poverty, Racism, Slavery, et al).

Please go to loveisthegreatestrevenge.com or tremolomusic.net and get your revenge. <<

Yes, that was an unadulterated plug for one of my all-time favorite bands, but if you were paying attention, you know that it's much more than that. Check it out and see for yourself:

loveisthegreatestrevenge.com

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUSTIN! It's great knowing you. I look forward to the next eleven years.