Life And MusiK:

Typo Positive

2010-03-23T17:56:00.000-07:00

**This blog entry has been checked and re-checked for errors.**

As a guitar instructor, I spend much of my week either instructing students or thinking through exactly what to instruct them in. (Songs, lyrics, chords, etc.) Although the internet has made it infinitely easier to acquire the lyrics and chords to almost any song being sung, there is a serious drawback: errors.

Is there literally no creditability required to post chords online? I can't tell you how many times I've printed off the chords of a song only to arrive at my lessons having to correct multiple mistakes while my student sits and watches me curse "the ten year old girl who must've published this lousy transcription".

Fortunately, I was well-trained in the old skool method of figuring-out-songs-by-rewinding-the-tape-two-thousand-times-until-
each-chord-was-right.
(That, and several years of music theory in college.) Anyway, I thought playing by ear was an extinct art form until I found error after error on internet sources. And that's why I teach my students to play guitar with their minds and their ears. Because you never know when little Suzy Johnson is going to come home from the 3rd grade and decide to "publish" the chords of Green Day's "Good Riddance" just for kicks.

P.S. Yes, that is my hand in the photo.

The Notebook

2010-02-25T19:55:00.000-08:00

I cracked open a new notebook yesterday--the kind that will be filled with song lyrics and chords: It's time to begin writing a new musical.

A colleague and I met on Wednesday to discuss the upcoming musical we're writing together: Cinderella. This won't be your average version of the classic fairy tale with unrealistic expectations, magic gourds and well-dressed, talking rodents. This musical will be a humorous, realistic (except for spontaneously breaking out in dance and song), delightful, colorful journey into the meaning of true love, marriage and dreams-come-true.

My colleague is the story/script-writer and acting director. I write the songs and direct the music portion of rehearsals. Two years ago we co-wrote "Snow White: Retold", a clever and penetrating take on the familiar story, performed by children/youth. What a joy it was to watch our work being acted, danced and sung on stage!

This summer, we'll be putting on at least 6 performances of "Cinderella", although the show is yet to be written. We've got dates on the calendar, fledgling actors lining up to audition, at least 20 pages of the script and some sketches for songs. But for me, the work begins now and only intensifies until our first rehearsal in July.

Not than I'm an expert, by any means, but here is how I work: my method for writing songs is always lyrics first. I lay on my stomach on the floor with notebook & pen in hand, read through the surrounding dialogue and think: what is this character trying to say? What are they feeling? How can this song expose hidden emotion or move the story along? Then I shape the words into verses, a chorus, a bridge, etc.

Then music comes. I try to match the emotion of the song with tempo and arrangement. I learned a tremendous amount from writing "Snow White". Huge lesson: the actors need to dance! Every song involves movement and choreography. Also, the melodies need to be attractive and memorable but attainable for young singers with higher-than-adult vocal ranges.

In the grand process, however, the hardest part is recording the music. Sure, I can write songs, but I also have to record layer upon layer of piano, guitar, bass, strings, brass, woodwinds, percussion and many, many vocals. For each song. Times 10 or 12. All on my outdated Mac desktop, an acoustic-electric Taylor guitar and a midi keyboard. Insanity.

After every song is recorded and mixed, I borrow a friend's music notating program to get the melodies of each song from the ear to the page. It's helpful to have it written out in case the parts need to be "pounded out" on the piano during rehearsals. Also, if we ever wanted to sell the musical as a package, all music would need to be notated anyway.

This is all probably much more than you wanted to know...

The upside is that I have many ideas swimming in my head since receiving the story outline on Wednesday. I've determined that the songs in "Cinderella" will be more Broadway-style, as opposed to solo-artist-style songs. That means layering melodies, harmony, at least one bridge in each song, etc. If "Snow White" was the kindergarten of my musical writing career, I'm aiming for at least junior high with "Cinderella".

Hence the need for a new notebook. All my lyrics, chords, themes, ideas, etc. will be written in that new notebook. And some day, when I've moved on to another musical (hopefully!) I will leaf through the pages of "Cinderella" and smile. Every scribble, word, correction and key change will have shaped me a little more. And what better record could a songwriter ask for than that?

She gave me the world

2010-02-22T06:49:00.001-08:00

It sounds odd, but I use a specific book for a "lap desk" when I'm writing from the couch. And it's always the same book.

When I was in 6th or 7th grade, my Mom pulled out a box of books from her youth. The only two I remember are her 8th grade diary and The World In Literature, the revised edition printed in 1967. Both books were enlightening.

My mother's diary from age thirteen had about fifty pages and was carefully written. I couldn't believe her large vocabulary and attention to penmanship and grammar. She used phrases like, "preferring the latter to the former" and spoke often of God. She also wrote about a young man (although much older than she) that she had a huge crush on. How strange to hear your mother's young heart pining for a stranger. (She didn't meet my dad until she was 16.)

The World In Literature, a large book that smelled of my grandfather's library, opened a world of magic and words to me. Before the literary volume, I hadn't much interest in poetry, or much exposure.

My father has always taught me much about music: rock, world music, and classical. And his passion for music has certainly been conveyed to my brother and me. (I credit my current profession as a guitar instructor and singer/songwriter to him.) So music, I knew.

My mother was the writer/reader of the family. Although both my parents are prolific readers, hauling thousands of books around as they've moved from home to home, my mom got the reputation for being more "literary". She encouraged my brother and me to read the classics: A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield, Peter Pan, Heidi, etc. Growing up, our rooms were well-stocked with the "junior" versions of every great book.

The World In Literature taught me about every kind of poetry, spanning eras and geography: China, India, Greece, Western Civilization, England, etc. The book only gets as far into poetry as 1650 and John Donne, but includes so many vital writers (from Li Po to Shakespeare) that it feels exhaustive. (Especially to a 12 year old girl!)

That first exposure to poetry fueled in me a desire to write my own poetry. Fortunately for everyone, I have no records of my early writings. I recall a series of terrible poems about objects in my classroom: fan, overhead projector, window, etc. Like I said, fortunately they're gone.

The World... also grew in me a love for certain poets: Li Po, whose poems "Thoughts of You Unending" and "The Hard Road" are the most beautiful things I've ever read; T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"; E. E. Cummings' "somewhere i have never traveled"; and Rainer Maria Rilke's "To Say Before Going To Sleep". I hunted down books of poetry while my peers were trying to find the perfect short skirt. I saw and mentally wrote poetry everywhere I went.

Eventually, my insatiable thirst for all things literature and poetry calmed to a rational passion. While still writing poems, I began writing songs & lyrics, which I continue to do to this day. Maybe some day I'll post some of current my poetry on this blog. (I'm still not prepared to face the vulnerability of poetry without the shelter of music that a song provides.)

I have many diaries & journals of my own. And I'm not sure I'll be brave enough to share them with my daughter when she's old enough to read them. But there is one book I will gladly impart, the one I always reach for when I'm on the couch and want to write a letter, a song, or some poetry: The World In Literature.

Finished the Song

2010-02-18T07:11:00.000-08:00

I finished the song I was writing last week. It's based on the book of Hosea & several other passages that were highlighted in my weekly Bible study.

There is a "rough" recording of the song, titled "And It Comes", however, I got a little emotional while singing and it's not my best vocal work. Hopefully I'll get to do a proper recording of it this year and will post that somehow.

Until then, the lyrics are written below.

And It Comes

I've been a fire, I've been ice cold
It's precarious to walk the line, or so I'm told
But it's so easy to play the game
This struggle for my life and I'm to blame

I know you hear me, You know my mind
It scares me to think just what you'll find
And if I'm honest, when it's all laid bare
My pride makes me pretend that I don't care

You could choose to turn Your face away
No one would blame You anyway

But You stay
And I'm amazed
Your love is like the morning when it comes
I could stray
Go my own way
Oh God, You bring forgiveness when I run
Your love is like the morning when it comes
And it comes

I show my back to You, You desire my face
I face the world so proud in my disgrace
My many alters, to other gods
How patiently you tear down these façades

You could choose to turn Your face away
No one would blame You anyway

But You stay
And I'm amazed
Your love is like the morning when it comes
I could stray
Go my own way
Oh God, You bring forgiveness when I run
Your love is like the morning when it comes
And it comes

I need Thee, Oh I need Thee, every hour I need Thee

But You stay
And I'm amazed
Your love is like the morning when it comes
I could stray
Go my own way
Oh God, You bring forgiveness when I run
Your love is like the morning when it comes
And it comes

(Kelli Buczek c.2010, Annie S. Hawkes c.1872)

Post-Modern Brats

2010-02-12T09:31:00.000-08:00

One of the books I'm currently reading is The Tangible Kingdom by Halter & Smay. I've just finished chapter five and find it enlightening and invigorating.

It's a challenge to the way typical Christ-followers view the Church (all Christ-followers) and what it means to be the Church in post-modern America. The authors' perspective is what some would call "missional" but they wouldn't place themselves in the "emergent" camp.

As far as I've read, Halter has told much of his own story of struggling through ministry in an increasingly challenging ecclesiastic environment. The nature of "church" is changing as the western world drifts farther and farther from the Biblical ideals our founding father's abided and governed the nation by.

I know many mature adults who still believe America is a "Christian nation". And according to the e-mail that was just forwarded to me by my grandmother, each state's Preamble contain the words "we" and something about God. That's proof enough, isn't it--that we actually still are a Christian nation?

My thinking, however pessimistic it may be, is supported by The Tangible Kingdom: we are a post-Christian nation. We were guided by God-fearing men and the Bible and it's instruction in morality and leadership, but we no longer are.

What are the implications for the people of God? What are the implications for the Church of America? Should we behave as if the current cultural trends of tolerance, Eastern mysticism, pluralism, idolatry, immorality and atheism are temporary? (And yes--these trends exist within the Church!) Do we carry on with the same methods and programs, hoping that the "true believers" will remain in the church, forgetting about the entire generation (18 - 30 year olds) that has left the Church en masse? Should we expect that at some point our nation will "get back to" being guided by Christ & the Word of God? How connected are the Church and post-modern American culture?

I've had experience with the clash of cultures that is still going on: Modern vs. Post-modern. In college, I was in the mixed choir under the leadership of a Godly man well into his 60s--now 70s. His philosophy of ministry and Church was certainly locked in the Modern Era. Whenever a choir member would give a response that was typical of the current, early 21st century mindset, our director would scrunch up his face and retort in disgust, "Post-modern brats."

Unfortunately, without the prayers and efforts of Christ's followers, the culture (within and out of the Church) will continue to be lead astray, "each to his own way", like clueless sheep. And that's what my current read, The Tangible Kingdom, is all about.

I'll keep you posted on the hope the authors give. And even if you don't agree with me on the spiritual & moral state of America, it's worth looking into...

2010-02-08T21:31:00.001-08:00

I think a breakdown might be coming soon.

A friend of mine came over tonight. We had a great time laughing about life, about being women, about being wives of husbands who are very committed and passionate about their jobs, about our children and about being followers of Christ.

We reached a point of vulnerability early on in the conversation and that opened doors into great depth: our failures as wives, our frustration with ourselves as mothers, etc. And of course, how our relationship with God is faring.

My friend mentioned that a while ago she had had a breakdown. She literally said, "Seriously...I went crazy for a few months. Out of my mind." I realized she was referring to a medical problem that caused her much suffering and anguish. I had just never heard the full story.

She proceeded to tell me that before her physical/emotional struggles, she had been a rather proud person, even spiritually. She described her mentality as if God looked upon her sin and said, "You know, you're really not that bad. I get where you're coming from and you're okay. I'm not that demanding..." And she lived that way for a long time.

Then, deep pain and emotional turmoil hit. She wondered what she did wrong. She questioned herself, her relationships, her treatment of her husband, everything. And she realized that her proud way of thinking and living had to change. God loved her and wanted the best for her. Which, in her case, meant humbling herself and realizing her own insignificance.

My friend said, "Do you know that song that goes, 'Holiness...holiness is what I long for...'? Well, there's a verse that says, 'Brokenness...brokenness is what I need'. I used to never sing that verse because I thought being 'broken' was a horrible place to be. But not anymore."

I admire my friend for embracing the humility she knows must be lived out. And even more amazing to me, she seems joyful about this beating-down of self! And it makes me think, "I wonder if a breakdown would be good for me..."

Obviously God isn't finished shaping my character yet. And honestly, I've grown pretty proud in the past few years. I've been successful, busy, blessed. Life is going pretty well on the exterior. However, I don't have joy in servanthood or humility like my friend does. There is a fear in my heart that if I humble myself I will get walked on and become invisible. But doesn't God promise to bless the humble of spirit, the meek?

So maybe I should start praying for a breakdown? And then I'd better watch out, because I just might get it...

Oh, the irony

2010-02-06T19:52:00.000-08:00

My husband said it's ironic that Americans are shelling out $2.7 Million for a 30 second television advertisement on Superbowl Sunday (tomorrow), yet people are dying from malnutrition and thirst in Haiti. Allow me to expound...

What does that say about our priorities? I'm sure the money had been invested in advertising before the earthquake struck Haiti on January 12, 2010. But now that we know how many people died, how many are still struggling for life and that money is the main thing we can give to help...I'm almost embarrassed of our nation.

I remember fashion commentators were pointing out how Hollywood celebrities "toned down" their glamorous gowns at the Oscars and other red carpet events following the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001. Some felt we shouldn't even be going to the movies or watching comedies. Many wore little American flag pins on their lapels. 2001's spirit of unity and servanthood seems like a distant glimmer.

Clearly, we are a society that bows to the tyranny of the urgent. And since Haiti is so far away, we can escape the calamity easily. We can even "over-indulge" on Superbowl Sunday: eat lots of food, drink soda, laugh at one expensive commercial after another. And on Monday, all the office talk will be about which ad was the funniest.

And still, Haitians will be without even a bowl of rice or clean water.

I don't mean to be the "Debbie Downer"* of the weekend. And honestly, so far my only plans to help with Haiti relief are to donate clean bed linens through my son's school. But if all Americans, including marketing firms and companies with $2.7 million to spare, would remember what is really important right now, our neighbors in Haiti might have full bellies tomorrow night. Something to think about while we snack on Doritos and Pepsi...

I guess all I can conclude is: it's ironic. And sad.

*Debbie Downer is a character from Saturday Night Live played by Rachel Dracht. Downer was always able to find the worst case scenario in even the happiest get-togethers or events.

Cycles, prostitutes and writing a song

2010-02-04T17:27:00.000-08:00

I'm in the middle of writing a new song. And it's sounding a little trite right now. You know, like a Taylor Swift song. But like I said, I'm in the middle of writing it.

The women's Bible study I attend every Wednesday morning is thoroughly exploring the book of Hosea. What began as a fascinating (although distressing) story of a man who was asked by God to marry and raise children with a prostitute has recently become a never ending cycle of the disobedience of God's chosen people, Israel. It started out as "not-your-average-Bible-story" and has become the familiar groans of a people who struggled with faithfulness for most of the Old Testament.

At fist the redundancy of Israel's blundering was tiresome. Seriously, guys...why don't you realize that when you disobey God, marry people who worship idols and foreign gods, then you're going to get sucked into sinful lifestyles and will turn your face away from Him? And then, the familiar ring of their inconsistency rang in my mind.

It's not new for me to see myself in the "ring of failure" the people of Israel lived in. They would fail and turn away from God. I have also forsaken Christ as my first love before, turning to entertainment or "service" in place of relationship. They would come back, repentant, begging for reconciliation. I have also come back to God, in humility, realizing just how easily my heart is "prone to wander" and desiring to be in a good relationship with Christ again.

However, last week, the words of Hosea and other Biblical passages that were cited struck me in a new and personal way. I speak particularly of how I can be "hot" and "cold" in my desire to pursue God and be pursued by Him. And yet, just like the Church of Laodicea in Revelation 3, I spend most of my time being neither hot nor cold...just lukewarm. Indifferent to my sin. Only the thought of what will happen after death makes me a little nervous. But even the thoughts of death can be pushed out by mindless distraction.

And yet God never abandoned His people, Israel. Through all their cycles of up and down, faithfulness and neglect, He loved and gave them chance after chance. And so He does with me.

That's what my forthcoming song is about. I would quote the lyrics here, but it's not finished yet and I might change them yet. But I will certainly share them when it's finished. I hope to add the music and play if for my fellow Bible study sojourners next Wednesday.

We haven't finished the book of Hosea yet, but I have a feeling it's more of the same cycle. But the good news is I've read the whole Bible to the last page, and I know how wonderfully it will all end...

Theology & the Arts

2010-02-02T07:40:00.000-08:00

I've never heard the concept of "freedom" expressed in such a clear, and yet mind-boggling, way.

Dr. Jeremy Begbie, professor of Theology at Duke University and Cambridge University, was a guest lecturer at Biblical Theological Seminary last night. (My husband is finishing up his Master's in Theology there.) I'm certain many, many people are currently blogging about his lecture, "Theology & the Arts".

I thought Dr. Begbie was going to speak about how to live as a Christ-follower and artist. Or how our theology should influence our particular field or sphere of artistic influence. But he didn't.

Begbie began by proposing we Westerners (particularly) have a problem with freedom. We exist in imaginary bounded spaces and self-protection, implying, "Do what you want in your bounded space, as long as it does not affect my space negatively." (Sounds like the post-modern mantra: above all, be tolerant.) Even God is viewed as a "person" who could or would invade the bounded space of ourselves.

According to Dr. Begbie, our theology is typically described in poetic language or by visual symbolism. Example: when we think of our "bounded space", think of colors. No two colors can inhabit the same space. Red and yellow cannot be in the same space. Either one would push the other out, or they would merge to become orange.

When people think of becoming a follower of Christ, they think, "More of You (God) and less of me (human); a give and take withing bounded space. There is a fear that one's personality will be negatively reduced by a God who will impose Himself on man. It would seem impossible to "co-exist" with God in the same space of ourselves. Our "freedom" is threatened.

Another example is the Trinity: the holy Father, perfect Son & guiding Holy Spirit are mysteriously three separate entities, and yet one God. Theologians tend to explain the trinity by using tangible items: an egg (the shell, egg white & yolk) or a plant (roots, stem & leaves), a tricycle (three wheels, but one bike), etc., etc. However, as Dr. Begbie pointed out, the three aspects of any physical example do not inhabit the same bounded space, as God is all three in One.

Dr. Begbie's proposal to us last night was simply to rethink the common theological metaphor. Visual imagery, although vastly valuable, is not enough to understand the complexity of God, or even how God works and dwells in the life of a follower. Instead, turn to music.

A chord was then played on the piano. Three notes, individually ringing at the same time, occupying the same space, yet all three co-existing without competition or pushing the other sounds out. Three individual sounds, but also one sound.

Also in musical terms, Begbie showed us the concept of "sympathetic tones". On a piano, if you release the "dampers" on the note middle C, then proceed to strike the key of the lower C note, you will hear the low C clearly, and middle C will harmoniously hum along. It will "sympathetically" ring out when low C is played.

So God enables us to "ring out" when He is moving & working in this world. And so we enable others to "ring out" when we are following Christ and serving Him and others.

Begbie's use of music as metaphor was precise and compelling. He also had many examples of musical pieces to illustrate his point. He brought pre-recorded examples, but most brilliantly, played some on the piano himself.

The lecture ended with Dr. Begbie playing, from memory, the last 6 minutes of a Bach's Chaconne in D minor (a solo for violin), arranged for piano by Ferruccio Busoni. It was mesmerizing.

This morning, when I began reflecting on Dr. Begbie's lecture, I thought back on my view of freedom. Indeed, I am one who has been operating under a post-modern "bounded space" view of others and of God. But I am also a musician and understand chords and sympathetic tones. Which means my view of freedom will, and has already begun to, change.

For the birds

2010-01-30T20:19:00.000-08:00

What do you get when you add 1 singer/songwriter/instructor, 2 young musicians, a local (non-Starbucks) coffee shop, 3 acoustic guitars and 26 songs? One entertaining and caffeine-energized evening!

Indeed, last night was "Live @ Main Street Java" night with 2 of my guitar students. I took two of my oldest kids with me to do a "gig" at a local coffee shop where I frequently play. They have worked very hard in the past 2 and 1/2 years to get to the level they're on, and didn't disappoint. Amazingly enough, aside from end-of-the-year recitals, they'd never played in public before.

We each played 8 or 9 songs of varied technique, tempo, mood and content. I did mostly original songs plus a few covers, including Sarah McLachlan's "Angel"and Sara Bareilles' "Between the Lines". My students performed almost all covers, with the exception of one student's original (as yet untitled) composition. They played everything from Pearl Jam's "Just Breathe" to Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me", the Beatles' "Blackbird" and Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". It was a diverse and engaging repertoire.

I think the moments I was proudest of my two students were when they were completely self-sufficient and confident. I was like the stereotypical proud parent, watching my kid take off down the street on a two-wheeled bike for the first time. And I was grinning like an idiot.

One of the two students, the sweet teenage girl, was casually rocking out on a song called "Chicago". She was taking her time, pounding out chords with moving bass lines, changing from a bar chord to a 2-chord...all complex for anyone who has only played for a few years. And I was sitting next to her, singing along and smiling. Her parents were sitting right in front of us, smiling too. But my smile was the smile of watching the process of that girl fail and falter and grow and gain confidence and accuracy. She had conquered so much just to be sitting there. And I had grown so much by helping her get there.

The other student, an equally sweet teenage boy, introduced a song he had written. He had been "messing around" with some ideas at home and had played them for me several weeks before. We had discussed form and tempo, key changes and repeats. But for the most part, he worked the whole song out himself. Last night I sat off to the side as he played his song, his creation, for a room of mostly strangers. He had the whole "stage" to himself and at that moment I wished he could have played it several times in a row. It was beautiful and simple. But most importantly, it was his. He had shared a part of himself with others and would forever remember that what he can make with his mind and hands will be accepted and appreciated by others. And for a budding musician, that is a powerful lesson.

As for my contribution to the evening, nothing was unusually challenging or surprising. I played and sang many of my own songs and felt powerful and free at the same time. But honestly, the evening was about pushing my "young birds" from the nest, so to speak. Well, maybe not out of the nest. But it was certainly a nudge toward the edge. There's still lots of time and musical places to explore. But it was a significant nudge.

And it was an amazing reminder of why I put in the hours and years of teaching lessons and preparation, sharing my experience and myself: it's for the birds.

Homemade Chai

2010-01-28T07:03:00.000-08:00

Starbucks has ruined Chai. I've recently discovered "real" chai, and it's much spicier than the typical American palette has been exposed to. Happily, I have been re-converted to chai-lover status.

(Ironically, chai is a word in many languages that simply means "tea". It is not merely the Indian-inspired variety of tea we get at Starbucks. Westerners have abbreviated the full term, "Masala Chai"--that spicy, creamy beverage we love--to just "chai".)

Seeing as we are on the tail-fringes of National Tea Month (and heading into February, also known as "National Grapefruit Month"--don't ask), I thought I'd celebrate by highlighting about a great little book I just read & include a recipe for homemade masala chai.

The book is titled The New Tea Book: A Guide To Black, Green, Herbal, and Chai Tea by Sara Perry.

Perry gives life to all things tea in a small edition illustrated with beautiful zen-like photographs. Contents include: the history of tea, how to choose, prepare and serve tea, as well as many recipes for tea mixtures (including the chai tea recipe below) and desserts/foods to serve alongside your favorite leafy beverage. It is certainly inspiring--I wish I'd found it earlier in the month!

Let me know what you think of the recipe from The New Tea Book that I've included below. As I write this, I'm sipping my own mug of homemade (masala) chai, and hoping you'll love it as much as I do. Oh, and happy National Tea Month.

Chai Tea Spice Mix:
-1 Tablespoon ground cardamom
-1 Tablespoon ground cinnamon
-2 Teaspoons ground ginger
-2 Teaspoons ground cloves
-1 Teaspoon ground pepper
(Store in sealed container. Makes scant 1/4 cup mix.)

Chai Tea Recipe:
-1/2 cup milk
-1/2 cup water
-1 black tea bag (or 1 rounded teaspoon black tea leaves)
-1 rounded teaspoon chi tea spice mix
-1 to 2 teaspoons sugar

Directions: In a small saucepan, combine milk & water. Over medium heat, bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and stir in the tea and chai spice mix. Remove from the heat, cover, and steep for 5 minutes. Strain into a pre-warmed mug and stir in sugar to taste.

Finding Mr. Wright

2010-01-26T18:47:00.000-08:00

I just finished the New York Times Best-Seller, "Loving Frank" by Nancy Horan. It's the story of famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright and the woman he loved, Mamah Borthwick.

Although the book is written mostly from the perspective of Mamah (pronounced MAY-muh), you gain amazing insight into Frank Lloyd Wright's world. He was a brilliant, but flawed man.

Architecture and modern design have fascinated me for years, and Mr. Wright's work has been a favorite. His buildings' clean lines, relationship with nature and appreciation for open space & light are remarkable. One of the most famous homes he designed, named "Falling Water", is not too far from where I live. (See above photo.) Someday I'm going to drive out there and take a tour.

Wright & Borthwick's relationship was tumultuous and even immoral, by Biblical standards. And their story ends tragically. But the book is compelling because you get to know real people. Considered an historical novel, the author bases her book on true newspaper articles, real letters, Wright's own autobiography, and the accounts of those who knew the couple.

I came away from the book with an appreciation for commitment; respect for the role early 20th century women played in the privileges I enjoy; a stronger love for my family; and a determination to embrace my own love of music, poetry, languages & literature. Maymah Borthwick taught me that.

I also came away from "Loving Frank" with a deep admiration for Frank Lloyd Wright. He was able to create beautiful things in the midst of a turbulent life.

But I was also reminded just how human and flawed even the most respected men (and women) are. None of us are perfect. But at least we are still able to create beautiful things. And we can only thank God for that.

You are the drama Queen...

2010-01-24T19:17:00.000-08:00

Last night it took me three hours to get the fake nails off. But it was worth it.

Yesterday I played the evil Queen in the production, "Snow White: Retold", a musical version of the classic fairy tale. A friend wrote the script and I wrote the 8 songs that helped tell the story. The cast was mostly children, with a few teenagers and me...30-year-old me.

There is something so satisfying about transforming into someone else, even for a few hours. And being the oldest member of the cast of "Snow White", I felt a responsibility to step up my game. It didn't help that the director was a colleague and therefore, I needed to work extra hard to gain her approval. I couldn't produce an unconvincing Queen, frightening but not believable. She had to have depth.

This dramatic vein runs deep in me: when I was a little girl, I would enact dramatic (albeit concocted) situations in front of a mirror. If one such scenario required a "sick little girl", I would dust my face generously with baby powder to appear pail and weak. In another scene I would borrow my mother's make-up to seem older. And even at the age of ten I prided my young self on being able to cry on command.

It goes without saying that after each dramatic scene in front of the mirror, I would then thoroughly rehearse accepting my Oscar award. Yes...there were real (fake) tears.

I acted a little throughout high school & college. But nothing "serious".

And so, with the dream of accepting a prestigious award far behind me, I took on the role of the Queen with anticipation. Even if no one applauded me personally, I would have the satisfaction of acting: expressing a fictional person, making her real to an audience; telling a story, causing people to reflect. And the entire process did not disappoint. My young cast mates developed a comradery, and I honestly enjoyed myself.

I really got into it too. A few weeks before the final 2 performances, I began wearing skirts to rehearsal, to become more "feminine" in my manor. Also, I began wearing gaudy jewelry and letting my long hair hang down instead of pulled back in a pony tail. And the final touch, to show my utter commitment to the role: fake nails. On Friday, dress rehearsal night, I applied long red nails with glue. Yes, glue.

With the awkwardness of long, fake nails aside, it was worth it. Tremendous creative growth happened within me. And I am confident I presented my best in the show last night. Although my take on the Queen was no Oscar contender, at least there was depth. And yes...real (fake) tears.

Blessed Chocolate

2010-01-21T21:09:00.000-08:00

I've heard of praying over one's food, but this strikes me as comical.

Shape magazine's February 2010 issue features an "Editor's Pick" on a new kind of chocolate truffle: chocolate raspberry hearts that are exposed to the brainwaves of meditating Tibetan monks for five days before the chocolate is shipped out. The website (www.IntentionalChocolate.com) claims the "meditation exposure" can improve the consumer's well-being by up to 67%. Oh, and for authenticity, the monks have personally trained with the Dalai Lama.

Our society has taken some pretty bold turns as of late. I mean, how do you capture the meditations, or prayers, of a person and infuse it into a chocolate truffle? And how long is the positive "vibe" valid? Does the shelf-life of the brain-wave power coincide with the expiration date on the box?

"Product & Prayers Good Until: 2/28/10"

It would be amazing, though, if one could capture and sell the positive result of prayer. That is assuming that every request or concern should be met with a 'yes' or happy ending. What if the thing I'm worried about or asking for is the result of my own stupidity? (ie. I neglected to fill out some important paperwork, and therefore my insurance coverage will lapse.)

Would God still be mysterious, powerful, omnipotent and intimate if he allowed prayer, our communication with him, to be marketed?

I'm sure the good people at Intentional Chocolate are attempting to share the benefits of meditated-upon chocolate with the world--all 67% of the benefits. But you must admit, in our yoga-class-pseudo-Buddhist-meets-Whole-Foods-crazy culture, selling "enlightened truffles" seems like a brilliant plan. And after all, the company does give 50% of their profits to charity.

Temping as these chocolates are, with a $20 price tag for 6 truffles, I think I'll stick to Junior Mints.

Guitar Instruction 101

2010-01-17T11:15:00.000-08:00

I'm cracking open this blog for 2010, much like the soft snap of a new book when the binding is being broken in. Every few months I vow to become a faithful/avid blogger. And then some calendar crisis takes precedence and I think: ah...no one reads this thing anyway...

However, I need remind myself that I am blogging for myself. And on that note, I want to share some ponderings about being a guitar teacher, or teacher in general.

In the past two and half years, my guitar studio has grown from 4 students to 18. They range in age from 6 to 16 and are such a delight to me. The young ones keep me on my toes, having to plan for much more activity to keep their interest. And the more mature musicians constantly challenge me to dig deeper, sharing parts of my own musical journey that I had forgotten or taken for granted.

The other day I realized how many different people I have to be in one day of teaching:

For some students, I am a big sister. We're comfortable joking around and I have some authority, but not in a parental way. The same giddy excitement bubbles up when they accomplish a song we both really like.

For another, I'm the "crazy aunt" that you laugh and share boy troubles with. They respect my advice, and I'm familiar, but non-threatening. I'm not "mom", but I have some wisdom to give. I know music theory, but can also kick butt on Beatles Rock Band.

Some students just need a mother-type. You have to reprimand them, ask them to play nicely with the other kids in the guitar class and remind them to practice their instrument. Then, when lessons are over, they give me a hug, eager for my approval.

And still, to others, I'm just a "buddy" they jam with every week. I'm sharing my experience, but there is mutual respect and I enjoy their playing as well. We recommend music to each other and I feel free to expose my musical shortcomings.

It's strange to be so many people in one afternoon. But it's comforting to know that after a difficult class of young beginners, where everyone is talking and I'm practically blowing a whistle to get them to focus, the following lesson is with a mature, growing student. Each segment of time that is draining is followed by a student who reminds me why I love guitar instruction in the first place.

Did I see myself as a guitar teacher when I was in college, while singing opera, recording a folk/rock album and rehearsing for some "glorious" use for my music? No, I didn't. But then, how could I have known how rewarding it would be to meet each student, and to fill the need in their lives, both musically and emotionally? I didn't anticipate what would be required of me. But how could I have imagined something so demanding and fulfilling?

I know being a guitar instructor isn't the main calling of my life. I'm a wife. I'm a mother. I'm a singer/songwriter. Someday soon, when finances allow, I will finally get into the studio and record a solid album, just to see "where it goes", which could be nowhere. But in the meantime I have my brood of relationships, a living heap of sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, friends and colleagues, all waiting for me each week. And right now, January of 2010, that's enough.

Captain 3D

2009-12-29T16:57:00.000-08:00

Oh to be blue and seven feet tall...

Yes, this past weekend, I was among the millions of movie-goers that were sucked into the magic of the film "Avatar". In 3D--er, "Real-D".

Now, I remember my first 3D experience. Disneyland, California: 1984. At the time, aside from the feathered haircuts and short shorts, there was this new amazing movie in 3-D called "Captain Emo", starring Michael Jackson. It was a revolutionary idea, having the picture come alive and "jump" out at the viewer. My four-year-old world was certainly rocked.

I remember, in "Captain Emo", little 3D fish swam into my lap, courtesy of the red and blue glasses with thick plastic rims. It felt so lifelike.

Interestingly enough, 3D is making a comeback. And we've come a long way since the Captain of 1984. Animated films like "Monsters Vs. Aliens", "Up", and the upcoming "Shrek 4" are in 3D. And for "Avatar", a new form of 3D was invented: Real-D. And it was real--really amazing. After a few moments, you didn't even realize you had cheeseball glasses on. That it, until you glanced at the person next to you to smile in wonder or share a reaction. (But then, you both looked stupid, so no problem.)

The Avatar plot was simple, and the storyline predictable. However, the Real-D effect and life-like CG work made for an impressive film. And I wouldn't mind seeing it again, although coughing up the ten bucks hurts a little.

Captain Emo...we've come a long way...

You Are My Joy (almost)

2009-11-09T10:13:00.000-08:00

Last night, two dozen teenagers, a handful of adults, my husband and I went to a concert. In the heart of Amish country (yes, that almost-mythical place of buggies, beards and head coverings which every Christian novel seems to be about these days) there was a rocking David Crowder* Band concert.

Earlier that day, a portion of our youth group shoved themselves into a pile of mini vans, SUVs and sedans, excited and talkative. We arrived an hour and a half before the show was to start, but we were prepared. Standing in a long line outside the front entrance (due to "open seating" tickets), we had dinner by kerosene lamp light. And I'm not talking take-out or fast food.

We had turkey wraps, pasta salad, juice, water, real green salad (which ended up being too much of a hassle to eat while standing in a parking lot), homemade puppy chow (dessert-type snack food), and last but most popular, Halloween candy. It was great. Out of 1600 people, we were the only ones having an awesome al fresco dinner party in the cold.

It reminded me of waiting in line at the theater to watch the 12:01 a.m. showing of the second installment of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, The Two Towers. That night in 2002 we camped out in line, played a game of monopoly, ate snacks, and drank cocoa until the theater doors opened. I'm convinced the movie was even better because of our pre-film entertainment.

So, back at last night's concert venue parking lot, students (all high schoolers) were flashing photos of one another (on their phones, of course) and texting non-present friends, flaunting what was being missed out on. The enthusiasm was contagious and every joke seemed funnier than it actually was.

Soon the doors opened and the thick, long line filed into the auditorium. After getting our tickets scanned and hands stamped (with two connected eighth notes...how original), we descended on a section of seats a few hundred feet from the front stage. The smoke machine had already been over-producing and the faint smell of sulfur hovered and clouded the air.

As is custom, two acts opened for the headliners. The first was a band called Seabird (from Kentucky--not Seattle). They were passionate, well-rehearsed, creative and fun. And loud. The crowd quickly took to Seabird and were swept up in the little-harder-than-Coldplay-like sound, with the lead singer, Aaron, even reaching respectable Bono-like heights. The second opener was a fizzling disappointment: Danyew. We couldn't tell if it was one guy, marketing his one-named self like Cher or Moby, or if the record label had been too stingy to send the rest of the band on tour with him. But, whatever the singer's history, he was generic and seemed to be trying too hard. (The guy was wearing a replica Civil War jacket over his tight jeans and tattered t-shirt--over sized buttons and all!) Not to be too hard on the guy, but I think I speak for the whole crowd when I say we would rather have heard another five songs from Seabird (or Big Bird!) than Mr. Danyew. Anyone who repeatedly demands the audience clap along (over our heads even!) is reaching.

In the fifteen minutes of set-up time between Lord Danyew and the main attraction, my husband, some of the other youth leaders and I went to mingle in the foyer. We noticed the front men (ie. lead singers) of both groups were by the merch table, signing autographs and chatting. So my husband and I had a nice talk with Aaron, the lead singer of Seabird. He was very down-to-earth and humble. We promptly purchased the band's new album.

Soon enough, David Crowder and his mottle crew took to the stage and all previous starter act follies were forgiven. The band was amazing. As usual.

There were strobe lights. There was an electric violinist. There were at least fifteen guitars, two Mac laptops, and two garden gnomes. There were typical Crowder* Band antics as well as accents. (DC*B is from Texas.)

The sad part of the story is that, having traveled 1 and 1/2 hours to the concert, we had to leave the show early. Parents had asked that their kids be home by 11:30 p.m. since they had school the next day. (Little do most parents know their kids are up until 1 a.m. playing video games or texting each other anyway...)

My husband started gathering the students as DC*B played "You Are My Joy" from their album, A Collision. I reminisced that at the last DC*B concert I went to, I recorded about 10 seconds of that particular song on my phone and would replay it from time to time, to remember the experience.

While my husband took a quick roll call, the students and leaders lingered in the foyer, within eyesight and earshot of the musical world they were abandoning, as if slipping back through C. S. Lewis' wardrobe, away from Narnia, and back to boring old England.

Attitudes were surprisingly upbeat on the way home. I estimated there was at least forty minutes of music we had forgone to get these teenagers home on time. Part of me wanted to stay and hitch a ride home with someone, anyone.

But it was a good night. And I'm glad I got to go. But, I smiled today when I saw the Band will be coming back to our area in a few months. I plan to buy 2 tickets and stay until the band is out of encores.

P.S. If you're wondering why David Crowder* Band has an astrix (*) before Band, then you're out of luck. I've always wondered that myself, but am too lazy to research it. Someday I'll find out.

The Green Room

2009-10-26T11:19:00.000-07:00

Right now, the sun light is coming in the window just perfectly. Finally, after days of rain and all those clouds, a breakthrough.

I'm sitting at a desk in what we call the "green room", the walls painted a sage-like hue for our daughter's nursery. Since she has now moved into a larger room with her older brother, we've converted this room into a art/music/creativity studio. However, being in the purely "developmental" stage, the only artistic, musical or creative changes to the room have been a large table with our Mac on it, a bookshelf with boxes of crafty odd and ends, and two guitars in their cases stashed in the corner.

Despite the as-yet lack of a complete escape I've envisioned this room to be, it's still satisfying to know it exists. At some point, this green room (perhaps with murals on each wall and origami mobiles hanging from the ceiling?) will be the perfect creative space.

In this room I will paint something penetrating and profound on canvas. In this room, songs will be born, be shaped, be rehearsed and even be (roughly) recorded on GarageBand. In this room I will sew costumes, write poems, spill glitter, cut fingers, hem curtains, scan photos, ask questions and be. This room is my hope for reinvention, investigation, exploration, and maybe even some kind of certainty.

I know I've pinned a lot of hopes on one small, green room. But right now, when the sunlight is perfectly coming through the window, I believe it can be all of this. And how appropriate that in show business, a "green room" is the small, quiet space you spend time in right before you go out on stage, prepared and transformed.

Lost in Translation

2009-10-20T18:03:00.000-07:00

"There are some days when no matter what I say it feels like I'm far away in another country & whoever is doing the translating has had far too much to drink". -Brian Andreas

I've been having one of those days for almost a year now...

To be continued.

Soon.

Aaaarrrrrrr....

2009-01-23T06:17:00.000-08:00

Some things should be left un-photographed. Some things should just be left to memory, even though you take the chance of not remembering every detail. Sometimes I'll be in a moment and think, "There is no way I could've captured this with a picture or video..." I've been having those moments lately. Some moments more voluntary than others.

Last week my older brother, and only sibling, came to town from Charlotte. We hadn't seen him over Thanksgiving (as is tradition) or Christmas, but he found a cheap flight to JFK Airport and plans were made. Since my daughter wasn't feeling good, my husband kindly offered to stay home with her as my son & I drove the 2 hours to the airport to pick up my brother, Kevin. (A.K.A. "Uncle Kevin".)

Another bonus of the timing of Kevin's visit: it was on the day of my son's 5th birthday. And we were going to be spending the day in New York City, our favorite place to go. Talk about a kid's dream come true!

We spent the majority of the afternoon looking for parking while stopping at a few places in between: Battery park and behind us a teeny-tiny Statue of Liberty; the construction at the World Trade Center site (ie. a huge hole in the ground with construction fencing around it); B & H media store (amazing!); buying two pounds of fresh cherries for $4 from a sidewalk vendor; and finally, bubble tea & cubed fish w/ bean curd sauce over rice in Chinatown. It was a great day.

Several times, when the sunlight hit our faces just right or we had a moment to pause and just breathe in the city (which some might consider gross), I thought, "This is just perfect! I could never capture this." There is something about realizing you are making a memory with every step that is surreal and beautiful.

The next day, Friday, was my son's birthday party. We decided to have only family over which included 3 cousin's near Keston's age. (I learned my lesson last year, after a maddening 2 hours being trapped in a basement with 8 four year olds...) The best part of the party was it's theme: pirates!

Keston wanted a "Pirates Who Don't Do Anything" cake, taken from a Veggie Tales movie he had recently seen. We kind of expounded on the theme and went all out: bedsheets draped all over the dining room walls & ceiling for ambiance; a treasure chest full of chocolate "dubloons" and strings of "bling" for my daughter & niece (which ironically the boys ended up donning); eye patches, temporary pirate tattoos & costumes; and my favorite, instead of cake, individual brownie "ships", each with a mast & pirate sails, blue icing for water and malt 'cannon' balls. Our house was crowded, and we had such a great time!

Well, to continue on the theme of "too magical for photographs", my son's 5th birthday party ties in beautifully. The "fancy" camera we borrowed from a friend to photograph the entire bash had a corrupt memory card. And the next day, when we attempted to retrieve the photos, they were all gone. Gone were the candid laughs, our son as "Black Hand Jack" (his pirate name for himself), Great Granny with a tattoo on her arm, my brother's visit, the ambiance, the cousins, Uncle Ben & Aunt Rose in full-on pirate costumes, and the fleet of brownie pirate ships.

I have to admit, I was really disappointed.

But after realizing there was nothing to be done, I remembered the golden winter day in New York City with my son and brother. I didn't have any photographs of that day, but I knew I would remember it for a long time. And why couldn't Keston's birthday be the same? I'm sure he will remember everyone coming over to celebrate his young life. He'll remember dressing up like a pirate and saying "aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr" for most of the evening. And he'll remember his Uncle Kevin coming all the way from Charlotte to be there for the party.

So, with reluctance and a weak smile, another special day gets chalked up to the memory bank. And I'm sure I'll remember it as being even more magical than it actually was. If that's possible...

Chateau

2009-01-15T18:29:00.000-08:00

Glass cleaner: check. Toilet bowl cleaner: check. Nasty sponge you only use in the bathroom after it has deteriorated from use in the kitchen: check. Rubber gloves so you don't have to touch nasty sponge: check. You guessed it: we're having people to stay over and I'm cleaning.

I've never been one of those compulsive clean freaks. In fact, if you're reading this and we were roommates in college, you're probably laughing that snort-type laugh right now. But I'm also not a slob. Like any "creative type", I can live with a certain amount of "chaos" before it gets to me. And I usually need some encouragement to get me motivated. Like having people over.

The crazy thing is that once our place is glossy and glistening, I absolutely love it and vow to keep it that way forever! And not that I want to use my kids as an excuse...but...well, children are messy and sticky. And they do tend to drag toys from room to room. And they kind of bring the glistening factor down quite rapidly.

My husband and I work hard to keep our downstairs level as "adult space". Meaning, we don't allow our kids to bring their toys downstairs or make every room a play room. But the upstairs gets a little cluttered from time to time. In fact, as I type this, these are the "invaders" of my room, an "adult space":

-Wooden push toy on a stick with a clown that turns his head as it moves
-child-sized acoustic guitar
-several 18-month-sized socks that my daughter has shed
-pink polka-dot diaper bag
-small wooden alligator that belongs in a "noah's ark" set

Now, at the end of every day (and actually, several times a day!) all these items will be returned to their proper homes (ie. bedrooms) and the hallways will be clear again. We like our home clutter-free. And I like it squeaky clean too. Heck, the list of chemicals under my kitchen sink would shock a pharmacist! But I think I just need more outside motivation. In other words, people need to come stay with us more often!

So, dare I announce "Le Chateau de Buczek" is officially open? Well, after January 24th, that is. Until then, we're booked...

2009

2009-01-06T18:42:00.001-08:00

I went to a discount store yesterday and bought a 2009 calendar with butterflies on it. The only other choices for monthly "adoration" were: cars, cats, country scenery, or "I Love the 90s", which I was not quite ready to re-live yet. But hey, for $1.99, I could handle butterflies.

As I was putting the calendar up on the wall, I remembered telling my husband how much I dreaded writing my first "2009" since I don't like uneven year numbers...1995, 2007... Somehow odd years seem more annoying to write out, especially since I cross my sevens. He thought that was pretty petty, and I half-heartedly defended myself. "Just wait 'til 2017! It'll be sooooooo annoying", he said sarcastically.

I guess I've always had a "thing" with numbers.

In 2007 when my daughter was about to be born via c-section, the doctors asked me what date I would like to come in for the scheduled surgery. My ideal date was June 12th. It was such a nice round number and easy to remember since it's Philippine Independence Day. (I'm an American who grew up in the Philippines.) Sadly, the 12th being a Sunday, c-sections were not being scheduled that day. But happily, she was born on June 8th, still satisfactory.

I don't know what it is about even numbers. I'm not superstitious or anything and don't believe in luck. And actually, there was a time when I was in a strange odd number phase. But it only pertained to my alarm clock.

My senior year of college, when I needed to wake up at a certain time, I wouldn't set my alarm for an even number. Instead of 7:30, I would set it for 7:27. A wake-up time of 9 a.m. became 8:57. Or 9:07, if I was planning to be lazy. It was a strange phase that only lasted a year.

And then there's my birthday: March 13th. I used to tell people I turned 13 on a Friday the 13th, like it was impressive or something. But since I don't believe in luck it was just kind of a fact I threw out to make conversation. Like mentioning you went to high school with the daughter of a B-list movie actor, or that you got lost at Disneyland when you were eight. Then I "wikipedia"-ed the year 1992, when I turned 13, and found out March 13th was a Thursday. There goes that novelty factoid.

In 7th grade, math was my favorite subject. In fact, I liked it so much I told everyone I wanted to be a math teacher. My teacher was really sweet, with wavy brown hair. I don't remember her name, but everything in that class just made sense. My love of math took a downturn, unfortunately, the next year. Due to carpooling "issues", I had to be home schooled for 8th grade, and with little-to-no parental supervision. (Long story...) So math and science went out the window, as well as history and some English. (I still have a huge void where geometry, Greek Mythology and astronomy should be.) Needless to say, I gave up wanting to be a math teacher and haven't been close to an algebraic equation since taking the "CLEP" test to get out of basic math in college.

Despite the love/hate relationship I've had with numbers since my youth, I guess I'm still optimistic about 2009. Hey, it could still be a great year, despite its oddity. A lot of big things are happening this year:

-My husband & I both turn 30
-My son turns 5 and will be starting Kindergarten
-My husband graduates from grad school (the end of a 7-year process)
-We will have been in full-time ministry (at the same church) for 5 years
-Celebrating our 8th wedding anniversary

And I'm sure there will be plenty of other surprises and disappointments in 2009. So, here's to all the odd (and even) moments of the New Year! May yours be blessed.

Christ-mas

2008-12-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

"The only true gift is a portion of thyself." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

As Christ gave Himself over two thousand years ago, so we celebrate each day we are privileged enough to give a portion of ourselves away. It may be with time, acts of service, words of affirmation, physical affection or tangible gifts (thank you Gary Chapman of "The Five Love Languages"). Whatever it may be, it's beautiful. Belated Merry Christ-mas...

NYC

2008-12-17T06:59:00.000-08:00

"Here in these deep city lights, a girl could get lost..." Sarah Bareilles sings those words in the song, "City". It's my current ringtone. And I've been humming it lately, not just because my phone rang a few minutes ago, but because we're heading to New York City tomorrow.

I can't explain the magical pull New York City has on me. And when I think of the Big Apple, it's in different ways, depending on the day. But I think anyone who's been there can admit there is no city like in the world. I've seen London, Tokyo, Vienna, Chicago, Hong Kong, Los Angeles, Manila, Paris, and many other global cities. There's really nothing like New York.

Sometimes, I imagine the city our immigrant relatives would have known. (My imaginings are in sepia, of course.) The dusty or muddy streets, the horse-drawn carriages, fewer tall buildings and much more affordable housing. I try to imagine stepping off a large boat, going through customs on Ellis Island and what it must have been like for someone to change your last name just because they couldn't hear you or spell it. Were my Irish & Italian relatives given coarse nicknames, based on the country they had just left in hardship and desperation? But that New York must have felt so alive, just as it does today, but more so, to contain the hopes of so many men and women starting a new life.

Jeff Buckley is one of my favorite singers. He plays a mournful rock guitar and wields his voice like a knife, sometimes scratching, sometimes cutting deep. He sounds like New York City to me. His version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" was recorded perfectly in one take, and evidently everywhere he played it in NYC, audiences would be as still as portraits. He died in 1997, drowned. But every time I listen to his music, I think of the New York of the 90s, kind of dirty, but prosperous. A slightly simpler time, before digital screens the size of sky scrapers were plastered all over Times Square. (I mean, wasn't that also the era of the Gap Khaki?)

There are so many other snapshots of the city, many of which are memories my husband & I and our kids have created:

-Battery Park and the view of a tiny Statue of Liberty in the summer
-Starbucks' hot cocoa on Thanksgiving weekend
-Times Square at 2 a.m. in May
-Little Italy and waiters shouting for us to come in to their restaurant
-Sweating while in line for bubble tea in Chinatown
-Pizza that only New Yorkers make (you have to fold it!)
-A carriage ride with my parents through Central Park
-Realizing "Dean & Deluca" isn't that big of a deal
-Stations of the cross in St. Patrick's Cathedral
-Ground zero just two months after Sept. 11, 2001
-That amazing square glass cube that leads to the Mac store
-A tiny Chinese restaurant at 10 p.m. on our 4th anniversary

Oh, too many to name...

It seems like every time we go to New York, we see a new side of it. Seriously, how could the world film so many movies there, and yet it never gets redundant? And I know living in New York would probably bring an undesired disenchantment. Kind of like working at Starbucks and making so many espresso drinks and frappuccinos that you never want to see another again, much less drink one.

But for now, getting ready for yet another adventure, another future-memory, I am full of hope and anticipation. I'm ready to be swept up int he magic again. And all there is left to say is:

I <3 N.Y.

Ramen

2008-12-10T15:53:00.000-08:00

An ode to the best food created by mankind: ramen noodles.

There is a lot of controversy surrounding this unappreciated delicacy. First, pronunciation. Some say RAY-men, others RAH-men. However you say it, it's tasty. (Gentle hint: Asians say RAH-men.)

Another controversy is "soup or pasta". My husband likes to cook the curly noodles in water, then drain them and eat them like pasta, with marinara sauce or pesto. I, on the other hand, feel the only 'true' way to eat them is in a watery soup form. How else would those yellowish, lava-hot drips roll down your face and burn your chin? How else would you get that fabulous slurping sound? And how else could you withstand the saltiness in the powder that accompanies the noodles?

That last question was a sly segue to my final point:

A third controversy is "the packet": that little silver, sealed square of sodium deliciousness. Some mix it in with the cooked noodles, some mix it with the hot water to make broth, some use only half (wimps!) and the least dedicated ramen connoisseurs toss it in the trash, completely unopened. (To the latter, I recommend you swiftly purchase a can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, since you obviously can't handle your salt like a true ramen fan.)

Most Americans discover ramen in college, when the spending money runs low and campus cafeteria food is deemed inedible. But I first came to know and love ramen noodles as a child in the Philippines. My American parents moved there in 1984 and stayed for 13 years, serving God and others. I was four when we flew across the ocean to that beautiful, humid, hospitable and endearing country. And I was probably four when I tried my first soupy bowl of ramen. My favorite brand (one of several in the Philippines, and none in America that can compare) is "Lucky Me!". I remember chicken flavor had a bright yellow package, while beef had orange. I ate it often growing up, and by the age of 18, and a senior in high school, was having a bowl every day for lunch. Literally every single day. Good times.

But this whole "college food" label really gives ramen a bad wrap! It implies a lack of respectability, a sophomoric condescension, an inferiority to other "adult" foods. And if you haven't had it since college, then I beg the reader to give ramen another chance. Here, I'll set the scene for you:

It's mid-October, and the sun's been in hiding for two days. The air is getting crisp, and the leaves are starting to fall lazily from tree branches. You've started wearing your favorite sweater around the house, to save from turning on the heat for just a little bit longer. But your fingers are usually cold, and you're wearing two pairs of socks inside your fuzzy slippers to keep your feet warm.

And it's lunch time.

Just imagine: you crack that cream-colored brick of hard, wavy noodles in half, and drop it into a bowl. You pour water over it until the bowl is almost full, and set it on the glass plate in the microwave, slamming the plastic door shut, and punch in 3 minutes. And then, you wait.

By the time you hear a high-pitched "beep, beep, beep", and pull the bowl out of the microwave, the water is steaming and the noodles are soft and translucent. Then, you tear open the packet of spices and shake the shiny brown powder over the noodles, stirring slowly. You can smell the broth, the noodles, the warmth. And as you pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands to protect them from the heat as you carry the bowl over to the couch, you smile. Slowly sitting down, you blow on the broth to cool it before dipping your spoon in to enjoy the salty goodness.

Tell me honestly, does it get any better than that?! So this is my hand-typed plea: give ramen another try. Revisit this misunderstood soup that could serve as an appetizer, a main course, a snack, or all three! I'll bet you that a cold winter, uncomfortable relatives staying with you at Christmas, and heck, even an economic crisis won't get you down while you're enjoying this fabulous food...

Top 40

2008-10-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

Every week when Sunday night rolls around, I think to myself: "Great...another Monday. This week will be just like last week. There is nothing new under the sun." I have this problem. I really live from one "exciting thing" to the next. The days in between events are spent looking forward to the next interesting thing. And that is no way to live!

So, here is my list of 40 things to look forward to on an ordinary day. Kind of like finding joy in the mundane. These are in no particular order. Here goes:

1. Hugs from my kids. All day.
2. Coffee (mmmmmmm....)
3. Catching up with family & friends on facebook
4. Going to Target just to browse
5. My favorite pen
6. Spending alone time with God when the kids are napping
7. Stopping by the pet store to check out the puppies
8. My black flip-flops (or as I call them in Filipino, "chinelas")
9. Grilled cheese sandwiches
10. The smell of dryer sheets
11. Loud music filling the house
12. Running for 30 minutes straight
13. Playing guitar
14. Working hard to have a clean house
15. Making Coconut Curry Chicken for dinner
16. Shoes lined up by the door: my husband's big ones down to our toddler's tiny ones
17. Looking through old photographs
18. Talking to a friend on the phone
19. Planning out guitar lesson curriculum
20. Journaling
21. Peeking in on my sleeping kids (so quiet!)
22. Chewing gum
23. Wearing my cozy gray sweater
24. Free samples at the grocery store
25. 50% off day at the Salvation Army
26. Watching my daughter try on my heels
27. Checking the mailbox
28. Family dance party in the living room
29. Having a good hair day
30. Bananas & peanut butter
31. Metropolitan Home magazine
32. Doing one more push-up than the day before
33. Observing my kids sharing
34. Chocolate chip cookies & milk
35. My chunky, purple glass ring
36. Hanging out with girlfriends
37. Finding enough spare change to get an iced coffee
38. Cool "free song of the week" on iTunes
39. Freshly swept floor
40. Sunlight streaming through the windows

Wow--that's a pretty good list. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow! Got any you want to add?...

Opium

2008-09-25T12:54:00.000-07:00

"People smoke and drink [and take opium] not out of boredom or in order to cheer themselves up, not simply because they like it, but in order to suppress their conscience."

Leo Tolstoy, the author of famed works "War And Peace" and "Anna Karenina", penned those words. He was writing about how abusing substances are really just an attempt to mask dealing with deeper issues, or figuring out what you really believe about life, eternity, hell, God, death, etc.

I've never been a smoker, drinker or druggie, but I sure have done my fair share of conscience-suppressing. And even though I'm firmly decided about eternity, hell, God & death, I'm not so sure about "life". (ie. how to live it victoriously, where I fit in, what God is doing, etc.)

I'm curious what the equivalent of "smoking and drinking and taking opium" would be for a post-modern Christ-follower? Perhaps obsessing over your body--working out or dieting; reading romance novels; the intake of entertainment without the use of godly discernment; being a workaholic "for the sake of providing for your family"; making the success of your kids your entire identity...just a few ideas. In any case, I'm sure we all do it to some extent.

The answer isn't to stop doing what we enjoy. The answer is to analyze what takes up our time, and check our heart for that "opiate" factor. Maybe we should ask, "Am I doing this to avoid dealing with a deeper heart issue with God? Am I avoiding a difficult but necessary talk with my spouse? Am I ducking out of possible ministry opportunities to spend time on my hobby?"

Whatever...you & God are the judge of your heart. But I know Tolstoy has reminded me of something pretty important.

Letting Go

2008-09-22T13:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not one of those worrier-types that can't sleep at night. The future doesn't scare me, at least not the possibilities. (More about that later...) Adventure and danger get me excited and I'm always dreaming about the wild, successful (and expensive) things I'm going to do someday. These are qualities of my personality that I was quite proud of, and thought everyone should admire about me.

However, I came to the realization that I do worry. The future scares me beyond words. And lately my dreams have been pretty lame. And it's not in the way you think.

To explain, my worries are about never having an adventure. I worry that God brought me here, to my current location, without a plan. It's as if His only plan was for my husband, and I'm just biding my time until He moves my husband (and therefore, me) to another place, with another plan.

My fear of the future is that it will look exactly like it did today: mundane. I can see myself in five years: in my early thirties, my son and daughter in 4th and 1st grade (respectively), my husband at our current church, or some other similar church, me still teaching music lessons, doing craftsy stuff in my free time & spending too much time of facebook envying the adventurous lives all my 400+ "friends" seem to be leading... Nothing will be different or exciting about me.

The biggest disappointment of all will be when I quit dreaming completely: quit imagining the coffee shop my husband & I will open someday; the book(s) I will pen; the songs & albums I will create; the brilliant, artistic & well-adjusted children I will have raised, the craftsy e-business I will open; and basically the fulfillment of knowing I have an interesting life.

Now, this all sounds pretty tragic. But let me be honest, this is where my mind goes when I spend too much time by myself, thinking of...you guessed it...MYSELF!

What God is showing me is that:

a) He didn't just bring my husband here, he brought me here too. And that means He must have a purpose for me. I'm not just sitting on the bench, waiting for Him to throw me back in the game someday.

b) My future should not be my concern at this point. Being selfishly afraid that my crazy dreams might never come to fruition doesn't make me a more godly woman right now. He has a plan. I just don't know what it is yet.

c) It's good to dream. But just a little. And not when I'm feeling particularly lonely or depressed. When my "dreams" (or raving imaginings) take me further from the truth, the love and obedience of Christ, I need to stop.

So all these things have been swimming in my mind, in my prayers, in my journal. I'm still asking questions and waiting for answers.

I've also decided to stop watching movies & webisodes for a period of time. (Webisodes because we don't have t.v.) Yeah, shockingly enough, it only took me four years to realize that Hollywood's version of life, love, happiness & success just aren't healthy.

While watching a film I would shake my head and say out loud, "See...that is just not realistic!" I would condemn the behavior of the lead actors. Plots seemed shallow and relationships much too hasty to be genuine. But now I know, secretly I desired the goods that Hollywood was peddling. I wanted to be a successful, attractive woman with an endearing quirkiness and large, well-decorated home. I wanted my husband to always be as romantic as he was in courtship. And most crippling of all: I wanted the hardest parts of my life to be over in a 3 minute montage.

So here I am, embarking on an adventure. My desire is for my Savior to be my best friend tomorrow, and in the end. And hopefully, I will have learned to art of letting go.

Haji

2008-09-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

So, I looked up "shame" in Japanese, since I know that's a big deal in their beautiful culture, and the word "haji" came up. I guess that's what I should be feeling about letting this crazy blog grow weeds and thistles over the summer.

But, to be perfectly honest, I don't feel haji.

As I've blogged before, summers are pretty crazy for our family. My husband's ministry is pretty time-consuming and I try to keep up. Despite the dizzying pace from June to September, God taught me some pretty important lessons, and provided some great opportunities.

In June, a girlfriend of mine invited me to join a small study on the fruit of the spirit. I had been looking forward to the "summer off" from a formal study, but wanting to connect on a deeper level with some women I respect, I agreed to go. That study, "Living Beyond Yourself" by Beth Moore, really taught me some hard lessons. And the time of accountability was invaluable.

My husband and some of his youth group went to Nairobi, Kenya for over two weeks. He had an amazing adventure and now sees the world, the people of God & America's affluence in a whole new way.
The kids & I spent the time in Charlotte, North Carolina with my parents. The kids got spoiled, and frankly, so did I. (No dishes for two weeks? Oh, thank you, Mom!)

We attempted a garden, despite the thick, gray clay that lies beneath the grass in our backyard. Some weak tomatoes and a crazy, foaming basil plant managed to squeak out of the muck. (Yeah, don't ask about the foam...we're not really sure we should be using those leaves...)

I wrote eight songs for a summer musical at the academy I teach guitar at. That was a wild adventure full of self-doubt and God mysteriously giving me music & lyrics! The performance was stupendous and the academy director is already planning another musical for next year. Wouldn't it be hilarious if all the songs were exactly the same, but with different words? Okay, maybe that would just be sad.

Our little baby girl officially became a toddler. She turned one in June and started walking the next day, literally. She's a sweet, stubborn, adorable, sassy, independent, affectionate girl and we love her. It's with sadness that she moved up from the "infants" room at church to the "toddlers" room across the hall.

Our son, 4 and 1/2-going-on-13, was all about kung-fu this summer. (No doubt thanks to Jack Black's version of an accidental hero panda.) He lovingly practiced his jerky and fierce moves on everyone he came across: me, his sister, cousins, grandma...the kid has no shame. He has boundless energy, which is causing me to look into a gymnastics class or something...put that flexibility & craziness to good use!

So, with plenty more details left out, I happily say "sayoonara" to the summer. Fall was certainly in the crisp air and I'm looking forward to it. And without one ounce of haji...

Self

2008-06-11T08:35:00.000-07:00

Something I've been learning lately:

"Nothing will steal your contentment like self-absorption" -Beth Moore

My favorite recluse

2008-05-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

"The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid and joy a liquid. Mine started to seep through its container as early as the next morning..."

J. D. Salinger wrote that in "De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period", one of the stories in his book, "Nine Stories". I find those words profoundly true of life and have always thought Salinger had an alarmingly accurate grasp on describing people exactly as they behave and speak.

His collection of writings is vast: "Catcher In the Rye" (his most famous and coincidentally my least favorite), "Nine Stories", "Franny and Zooey", "Raise High the Roof Beam Carpenters (my favorite) and Seymour: An Introduction", and a variety of short works in The New Yorker and other publications.

Although 89 years old, Salinger is evidently in hiding somewhere, presumably on the West Coast. Personally, I like to think of him as being holed up in a small house on the Oregon beach, writing on an old typewriter, smoking a pipe that smells of vanilla. And when he dies, some relative in New York City will find all the complex and penetrating stories he wrote and will publish them in three or four great volumes.

If you're new to the work of Salinger, I recommend reading "Franny and Zooey" first, to get a grasp of the famed Glass family he writes about in the majority of his stories, and to carefully slip into his writing style. Warning: he does use profanity in his writing, which is a shame.

Regarding the two books I have been reading, ("Convertible Spaces" and "Jesus For President") I am ready to return them to the library. Convinced my space is, at this point, unconvertible, I must resign to de-cluttering in reality and converting only in my mind. And although there was much I enjoyed about "Jesus For President", it really is a book of reasons why Christians (and America?) shouldn't be involved in any kind of war or violence. He could have just said that in the introduction... I would still recommend both to you, when you have the time.

Let me know what great books you are reading or would like to read. I'm always up for a challenge when the knitting needles need a break...

Spaces & Saviors

2008-05-12T07:17:00.000-07:00

I've been reading two really interesting books lately: "Convertible Spaces" by Lam & Thomas, and "Jesus For President" by Shane Claiborne & Chris Haw--both I would highly recommend.

The first, "Convertible Spaces" is a fascinating book (mostly photos) of modern (ie. streamline, uncluttered) architecture and ways to conserve/convert space. It is an inspiration to simplify, simplify, simplify and my husband and I are now looking around our house for more things to sell or give away. (Side note: I recently sold several things on e-bay, to clear out the china cabinet...and make some extra $$.)

I think my dream "house" would be a loft with huge, high ceilings and all the possibilities in the world. No carpet, no prescribed space, just the chance to lay out the home however we want. And in a city, of course. I mean, I love our backyard, don't get me wrong. But the more I try to make myself into a gardener/weeder/bird-feeder/bug-lover, the more I enjoy concrete and clean, open space. And I've adored modern architecture for years and would jump at the chance to "try it" myself.

The second book, "Jesus For President" is a fascinating look at politics from a liberal Christian perspective. Claiborne notes that so many Christians have made politicians into our "saviors" and haven't been thinking like and for Christ. I'll write more about it later, including quotes. But really, with the upcoming election and primaries flying around left and right, this book came out at a most appropriate time!

I hope your Spring is going well. As soon as I take more photos of our life, I'll post them. In the meantime, enjoy your space, however big, small, cluttered or clear, and most importantly, enjoy your Savior.

the sea

2008-04-07T06:41:00.000-07:00

days of innocence - part five
by e. e. cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and

milly befriended a stranded star
who rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

Pros(e)

2008-03-26T16:49:00.000-07:00

Did you know April is National Poetry Month? I've been celebrating it, to one degree or another, for about eight years now, and have always enjoyed it.

Every year at the end of March, I pull out some of my favorite works of poetry: "The Book of Images" by Rainer M. Rilke (translated by Snow from the original German); "The Selected Poems of Li Po" (Chinese poet from 800 AD); a few poems by e. e. cummings; "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot; and many others. Books in hand, I trap my husband in the car or pounce on him unsuspecting while he's finishing dinner, forcing him to listen to at least a half hour of "good poetry". He actually enjoys the words, joining me in admiring the profound artistry and questioning the meaning.

This year, I'm determined to go "all out". I stopped by the library to pick up a few authors (or genres) I'm hoping to become more familiar with: Keats, D. H. Lawrence, haiku, other works by T. S. Eliot, etc. I'd like to actually post in the house a new poem every day, for us to read. Can't you just see a sonnet (tastefully) taped to the bathroom mirror? Or some wistful prose poised atop the carton of eggs in the refrigerator?

I'll keep posting poems I enjoy, in hopes of kindling your interested in poetry. From one lover of words to another: Happy National Poetry Month!

P. S. Any suggestions of creative ways to display or spread poetry this coming April?

Breakdown

2008-03-07T07:07:00.000-08:00

A few of you have asked about how my experiment with gDiapers turned out. Well, here is the update: we LOVE them!

The sample pack I bought included two of the soft cotton diaper covers (with two removable waterproof liners each), ten diaper liners (the ones you flush) and a swirly stick that attaches discreetly to the side of the toilet.

The diaper covers were in great colors (which you could order more individually from the website), in creamcicle-orange and beige-taupe. Our daughter seemed to feel great in them, even though they are a little bulkier than plastic disposables. I ordered size Medium for her, and she is 8 months, weighing about 18 pounds, and the fit was perfect. They washed easily in the machine and are still soft.

Even though flushing wasn't a problem, I still put the "urine-only" diapers in the diaper genie, to save possible stress on the pipes. But all "dirtier" diapers, I easily flushed!

So, bottom line: we LOVE gDiapers! A few of you have told me you can find them at your local mega-grocery stores. (ie. Wegman's or Whole Foods. Sadly, Costco and Babies'R'Us don't carry them.) The only hesitation we have is budgetary. So here is a quick breakdown of the cost:

Diaper comparison*:

gDiapers: $0.40 each (per diaper)
Pampers Cruisers: $0.25
Pampers Regular: $0.23
Huggies: $0.23
Costco Brand: $0.18

*Price comparisons are all for size 3 diapers, since my baby is older.

As you can see, gDiapers are more expensive. But there are more important things than an extra fifteen cents per diaper--like 500 years of plastic piled in a landfill, with the waste leaking into our water systems.

One extra cost with gDiapers that you don't have with plastic disposables: the cotton diaper covers. (Those run you $16.99 each. I would guess you might want to have about 4 or 5 on hand. Maybe more for newborn - 6 months? My almost 9-month-old did fine with only 2 but I would like at least 1 or 2 more.)

So, it really is a personal decision. I'm just waiting a little bit to see where the extra $20 a month will come from in the tight budget: personal money? (we already shop for clothes at the thrift store.) food money? ("alright people...we're having mac'n'cheese again!") car repair money? (no more oil changes, and I mean it!) Well, we'll sort it out. And if the Lord really wants us to take care of the earth, He will surely honor our desire to not pollute it any more now that these diapers are available.

I'd love to hear how any of you are enjoying gDiapers! Who knows, maybe I'll get a job working for them since I like them so much...

Seasons

2008-03-03T07:57:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to this album on "repeat" for about two weeks now... Jon Foreman, the lead singer of the band Switchfoot, recently released a double-EP, or two discs with six songs on each disc. The are named "Fall and Winter" and the mood of the double-album suits the titles.

Foreman's music is a collection of lazy, thoughtful, emotionally-provocative and relaxing songs. On "Fall", he sings of coming home to his wife on "Southbound Train", and confesses his sinfulness on "Lord Save Me From Myself". The short disc ends with a melancholy piano on "My Love Goes Free" (an almost out of tune piano, easily pictured as a stand up in the corner of some dark coffee shop in Paris) with a haunting melody singing, "If you love her, let her go..."

"Winter" begins with a beautiful story in "Learning How To Die", followed immediately with the ambiguous "Behind Your Eyes". (My husband thinks it's about Foreman having an affair, but Christianity Today online reviewed it as the difficulty of sharing someone else's pain.* You can decide.) Two songs are clearly Asian-influenced, and the heart-breaker on "Winter" is "Somebody's Baby": the story of a homeless woman who lives through hell, then dies with no one even noticing.

None of the twelve songs would I consider "filler" songs, or simply using up space. This double-EP is definitely worth picking up at Borders or on iTunes. And besides the beautifully pensive mood this music will create, you can look forward to the follow up, "Spring and Summer", which Foreman promises to release later in 2008.

If you want to hear a sample of every song on the these short albums, check out www.JonForeman.com. I'd love to hear your thoughts...

*Christianity Today article on "Fall and Winter": http://www.christianitytoday.com/music/reviews/2008/fallandwinter.html

Ah...l'amour!

2008-02-25T07:45:00.000-08:00

I've got French songs on the brain today. After having recently gotten my voice back, since losing it down to "the squeaks" for the third time since Christmas, I picked up my guitar and played through some old chansons from my college "opera diva" days. (This opera singing was, of course, forced upon me by the music dept. And though I am grateful for the discipline, I would still choose to sing the Beatles over Henry Purcell any day.)

The following poem (written in 1879) by Armand Silvestre was made into a beautiful piece of music by the French composer Faure. If any of you read French, I could e-mail it to you in the original language. It's much more lovely...

Notre Amour (Our Love)

Our love is a light thing,
Like the perfumes that the wind
Take upon the summits from the fern
So that they can be inhaled while dreaming.

Our love is a charming thing,
Like the songs of the morning,
In which no sorrow is lamented,
In which an uncertain hope vibrates.

Our love is a sacred thing,
Like the mysteries of the woods,
Where an unknown soul is throbbing,
Where silences have voices.

Our love is an infinite thing.
Like the paths of sunsets,
Where the sea, reunited with the skies,
Falls asleep under the suns that lean over.

Our love is an eternal thing,
Like everything that a conquering god
Has touched with the fire of his wing,
Like everything that comes from the heart.

Perhaps I'm humming Faure because this coming Saturday is our church's Spring Banquet, formerly known as the Valentine's Dinner. I guess there wasn't room on the church calendar for it in February? Anyway, somehow, my husband & I were roped into doing the entire "program". It started out as, "Can Kelli sing one song, and Tim, can you m.c.?" Then, it morphed into organizing games, doing several songs, skits (?!) and possibly an interpretive dance. Okay, now I'm exaggerating. But really...we weren't prepared to take the whole event over!

So I'm thinking a few French chansons should do the trick. You know, create a romantic European mood, etc. Who knows what they're serving for dinner, but I know both my husband & I would look fabulous is skinny, curly mustaches and berets!

Oh G...

2008-02-18T19:00:00.000-08:00

I recently learned that an ordinary plastic disposable diaper takes about 500 years to decompose in a landfill. Five hundred years?! That means the size 3 diaper I tossed in the trash today won't deteriorate until around February or March of the year 2508. And the world uses billions of diapers a year. No wonder New Jersey (New York City's dumping grounds) has such a stinky reputation!

Another interesting thing I learned was that you aren't supposed to put "poopy" diapers in the trash. (Huh?!) According to the warning on every box or package of disposable diapers you buy, you are supposed to "dispose of waste" in the toilet BEFORE you throw the diaper out. Otherwise we're letting poop seep into the ground and into our water systems. Nice. Um...how often have I pre-cleaned a diaper heading for the trash? Never. (I challenge those of you with diaper-sporting family members: check the packaging for a "warning" about poop.)

In response to all the bad news about how MY eight-month-old could be irreversibly polluting our world before she even knows what the word "landfill" even means, I jumped on the internet and decided to explore non-plastic diapering options.

As expected, two words popped up, which strike fear into the heart of most modern women: cloth diapers. I actually enjoyed surfing a very helpful website, www.comfybummy.com. There were great videos, a large selection, and the photos of happy babies almost made me forget the minor corinary I had when I saw the price of just one cloth diaper: $6 and above?!! (And the kicker is they recommended you have at least "three or four dozen" on hand. This outragious number was confirmed by my sister-in-law, who cloth diapered her three kids, currently aged 7, 5 and 3.) Now, my math isn't the greatest, but the calculator on my computer shows that rounds up to about $288! Not to mention the cost of the plastic thingies that cover the cloth. And the cost of washing all those diapers in both a cold AND hot cycle with special detergent...?? I couldn't take it.

Disheartened, but not downtrodden, I persevered: there had to be something in-between a cloth diaper and a plastic-earth-killing one, right?

Finally, I stumbled upon gDiapers. (Don't ask me what the "g" stands for--great? Global-friendly? Gooder-than-plastic?) This company (www.gdiapers.com) invented a non-plastic diaper lining that fits into a breathable, washable cotton outer lining. When it gets "soiled", you pull out the lining, drop it in the toilet and it literally dissolves in the water. You flush and it doesn't clog your pipes or kill the environment. No plastic in the landfills, and no stinky buckets of bleached water with expensive cloth diapers (and who knows what else) floating in them.

I know you're wondering: how much do these cost?! They are a bit pricier than the conventional diaper. But I'm really wondering what it might be worth to keep another several thousand diapers out of the earth for 500 years. Wouldn't that be worth an extra $20 a month? I guess it all goes back to what you think God meant when he asked us to be stewards of the earth. And I know there will someday be a new heaven and a new earth. But it is hard for me to look at my little girl's sweet face and know that every day I am choosing to put MY convenience and monthly "personal money" ahead of keeping HER future world safer and less toxic.

So, I guess you could say this is another step my family is taking to "go green" in the small ways we can. We use recycleable bags at the grocery store, carpool, recycle bottles and cans, buy clothes at the thrift store, and re-use tea bags. Okay, the tea bags thing isn't true. But it's kind of a new thing to wake up and realize the many ways we waste things. And I think we as Christians in general have a bad wrap for not caring about the environment or fair trade...we have left that to the "hippie" or "New Age/Yoga" types. Shouldn't we be leading the way as examples of excellent stewards?

With nervousness and anticipation, I await my gDiaper order's arrival. They should be showing up via FedEx later this week. Part of me is skeptical that they'll work, but most of me hopes this is a great step for us as a family, starting with the youngest member going green. Hey, GREEN...as in gDiaper, or greenDiaper? I get it...

Seagulls

2008-02-08T18:56:00.001-08:00

I went to the dentist today for a cleaning. After much poking and prodding, swishing of mysterious liquids in my mouth and promises to floss daily, I stepped out onto the sunny, breezy parking lot.

And I heard them: seagulls.

There was this beautiful high-pitched cry and I looked up to see two white gulls gliding on the wind. They were circling around the asphalt, no doubt hunting for food. But the amazing thing is that I don't live near the ocean. I live on the East Coast and the nearest beach is hours and hours away.

Even more amazing, however, is how just the sound of those birds took me right back to the West Coast...to Oregon, actually. I felt like I could get in my car (er, minivan), drive down the road and dead end into a mound of sand. Then I would take off my shoes, pull my sweater a little closer around me and go for a walk on the sands of the Pacific ocean. I could almost see Haystack Rock, and smell the salt in the air, making my hair sticky from the moisture-heavy wind.

My husband and I took some beautiful photos on our honeymoon at Cannon Beach, in Oregon. You know the kind: you look at them when you're tired and fat and think, "Man, we were so young back then..." Hazy, salty memories of love at the beginning of the adventure.

Sadly, I eventually had to get in my minivan, with the reality of sore gums, running late and needing reverse directions to the highway taking over my thoughts and senses.

Do you think in Heaven we will still be able to visit places on earth that we loved? Or places we never got to visit? I have a long list of countries and towns that I've never been to and would someday like to see. But if I could just fly down to an earthly place after I've gone to Heaven, I would stop by my husband's mansion (or at least he was my husband on earth) and ask him to take a walk with me on the Oregon beach, holding hands and smiling, just for old time's sake.

Birthday Boy

2008-02-07T08:13:00.000-08:00

This following blog was taken from my journal on Jan. 22nd. WARNING: may contain some *gross* material not suitable for reading while eating. I'll write a "live" blog soon...

My little boy turned four today. He is so smart, funny, energetic & dramatic. He talks non-stop and is extremely friendly to others. He loves to play rough with guys (mainly his Papa) and considers himslef to be somewhere between four and fourteen years old. With his little sister he is both protective and yet defensive: he will pull a stranger's hand away if they touch her, with a "that's MY baby Ella!"; yet he will also push or pull her away when she clumsily crawls toward his train collection.

He asked for a grilled cheese sandwich for breakfast. So my husband fried up an extra cheesy one and plopped it onto his oversized plate that said "celebrate!" all over it, with confetti designs on the rim. The day was pretty typical of a Tuesday except Keston got to watch a movie and we made a special wooden helicopter craft.

He ordered alphabet soup for lunch and when it arrived in a bowl (sitting atop the same "celebrate!" plate from the grilled cheese breakfast) proceeded to declare each letter that he fished out with his spoon in a loud, triumphant voice.

We went to Toys 'R' Us to browse and perhaps pick out something small for he & Ella. (I had been give a $15 gift card for Christmas.) A crazy, spinning, shiny plastic contraption (that suctions to the table or flat surface of choice) seemed to exhilirate my eight-month-old, so we put it in the cart. Then after much urging, dragging, stern discussions about the behavior of "big boys" and a trip to the potty, we skidded out of the store with said ploastic toy and a Thomas the Tank Engine DVD Keston wanted. (One of his favorites.)

When I finally put Ella to bed, let Keston open one birthday gift (the rest of which were to be saved for his party on Saturday) and got his dinner of choice ready, something had changed.

My sweet, independent, self-sufficient four year old looked at me in a panic and said, "Mama...I have to go poo-poo!" and began to cry. By the time he was carefully situated on the downstairs toilet, he was bawling and I saw he had diahrrea. Not the best way to end your birthday (or the best topic for a blog).

But I am really beginning to wonder if God is trying to teach me something.

Tim got sick Christmas day, then I got sick the next week. Then Tim got sick again, then I had a car accident...and proceeded to get sick again. Finally Ella got the flu a few weeks later, followed by myself, Tim, and now Keston. Am I missing something here? Is God trying to tell us to slow down? Is there some unconfessed sin in my life? Am I being too proud? Selfish? Self-sufficient or impatient?

So, gratefully (in retrospect), Ketson didn't touch an ounce of the "Spiderman" mac n' cheese he'd requested for dinner. It sat on his "celebrate!" plate as he quietly folded his knees to his chest.
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Well, does your tummy hurt?"
"Yes."
"I think you should go to bed, then, big boy."
"No, no, Mama.. (whining) I'll eat my food!"
"Honey, I don't think you should if your tummy hurts."
"Okay."

Even as I wrote those last words, I heard my young boy coughing in bed, and I helped him to the bathroom as he threw up for the first time in his short life.

Perhaps God gave me a stomach of iron and an impromptable gag reflex just so I could calmly console and clean up after my sick son. (Maybe I am just like the missionary Amy Carmichael--she eventually understood why you gave her brown eyes instead of the much-desired blue--to help orphaned Indian children by blending in.)

And so, as my son cautiously fell back asleep, I knelt by his bed and prayed the Latin prayer, "Kirie Eleison":
"Lord Jesus Christ,
Son of God,
Have mercy on me,
A sinner."

What a terrible way, contemptable way, to spend a birthday. But I certainly know that I truly love my "big boy" more than ever. And if God is trying to tell me something, I'm finally listening...

Cracked

2007-12-31T13:18:00.000-08:00

Can you have a funeral for a car? Our recently departed VW Jetta (1997-2007), whom my almost-four-year-old son simply named, "Blue Car", has recently left the world of moving/functioning vehicles.

Yesterday, a crisp, frosty morning, I got into Blue Car, impressed to actually be leaving on time for church. I had to be there at 7:30 a.m. to rehearse and lead that morning's music on guitar and voice. And along the drive, there is this little shortcut my husband and I take, called Minsi Trail (a name that will live in infamy...). As I approached Minsi Trail I thought, "Do I have enough time to get to Dunkin Donuts for coconut coffee with extra cream and still make it to church in ten minutes?" Trying to be conservative with the $pending, I took a slight right onto the shortcut. (Background: sometimes there are unsalted, icy patches and random deer on this road since it's not as traveled. Yeah, I should have known better...)

Coming up around a hill and bend, I noticed immediately that there was black ice on the ground. I quietly whispered my shortest prayer, "Oh Jesus" and tried to remain calm as the car began sliding. It seemed for a split second that maybe I had regained control of the car. But right after that thought lightning-bolted through my mind, Blue Car began fish-tailing. Suddenly I felt what seemed like a hard tug on the trunk of the car, and I was hurled into a fast spin. I flew once completely around and realized I was going to hit something: a ditch? a guard rail? another car? I didn't know what. In fear and in anticipation of the collision I grabbed the wheel, turned my head to the right and squeezed my eyes shut. I don't even know if I hit the brakes, the gas, or neither.

I heard a metallic "bang" and then felt the car come to a stop, with my left shoulder hitting the driver's side door. Smoke from the engine and the airbags that had just been deployed filled the car, causing me to cough and blink quickly. The windshield wipers were squeaking loudly across the front glass. I tried to get out but my door was right against the metal guard rail. I grabbed my purse, aware of the need for my cell phone and climbed out the back seat. The car seat my son usually sits in was tipped over on it's side and I've never been more grateful that it was empty.

The cold, fresh air caused me to cough harder and I saw pieces of Blue Car all over the two-lane back road: splinters of yellow plastic that used to cover my turning lights, chunks of black and blue that were the bumper and front grill. I opened the front passenger door, reached in and turned off the ignition, giving much needed rest to the overworked wipers. As I walked forward to see what was leaking from the engine (lots of green liquid something) I pulled out my phone and pressed down number "2" to speed dial my husband. Afer a few rings, I woke him up with a breathless, "I got in an accident. I'm okay, I'm okay. The car is totalled. The cops are here, I've got to go. I've got to go. I'm okay."

Moments passed and after a few questions from the police, a neighbor's arrival with a wide broom to help clean up all the pieces, some flares to warn other drivers of the ice and another call to my husband, I was seated in the back of a cop car to stay warm while they checked my license, insurance and registration. I rubbed the right side of my neck and twisted my head back and forth, up and down, to check for sore spots. The radio was blasting Christmas music: someone singing "Sleigh Ride" and too much treble on the bells, making them ring in my over-sensitive ears.

The tow truck came to get Blue Car as the cop car I was in pulled away in the direction of the church. "I guess it's a blessing your kids weren't in the back" was Officer Brown's comment as we pulled into the church parking lot. "Good luck", he said. I thought about saying I didn't believe in luck, but the words just wouldn't come. I thanked him and got out.

When my husband, and kids and I, riding in our other car, pulled into our driveway later that afternoon, we paused at the bottom of the driveway. My husband and I glanced at each other and he slowly drove right into the center of a patch of asphalt that was space enough for two cars. "I guess we don't need to park on the side anymore", was all my husband said. And like that, we acknowledged the loss of our Blue Car, the realization that truly God gives and He takes away.

It wasn't luck that had kept me from spinning into a ditch and flipping over, instead of being stopped by a guard rail with very little injury. And it was also providence that I was safe (if only a little sore), reserved for some greater purpose. And all I can say in conclusion is that I guess it's my responsibility now to find out what that purpose is...

Chocolate

2007-12-17T07:43:00.000-08:00

Technology is a killer, right? The musician David Crowder disagrees (see "A Conversation" from his "A Collision" album) and I think I do too. But I have to admit there are times when I wish it wasn't so easy to be gotten ahold of. After all, if people know you have e-mail, a cell phone, instant messenger, mobile e-mail, etc., etc., then they feel "slighted" or ignored if you don't respond within 30 seconds of receiving their message.

My husband and I got new cell phones yesterday. We are on Verizon's "New Every Two" plan, giving us new phones every two years, if we want. The funny thing is, I think Motorola, LG and these other phone companies are building their phones to self-destruct in two years. Good business.

Although I am enamored right now with my new phone (the LG "Chocolate" in Cherry Chocolate--a dark burgundy), I am a little saddened at how "post-modern" I've become. I mean, I still really like writing letters. You know, the kind with a pen, paper, envelope, stamp...remember those? But it seems that when I write one, I never get one in return. The art of "correspondence" is lost in a world of keyboards and satellites. Sometimes I still write letters, just for the fun of it. It's satisfying in a strange, nostalgic way.

I still remember the first letter I ever got from my brother. It was after he'd left for college. I guess before that we'd never been apart long enough to need letter writing to stay in touch. (Remember, this was before e-mail was really prevalent.) He was in Chicago and I was in the Philippines, and I was missing him. That letter, in his crazy half-lowercase, half-uppercase handwriting meant so much I think I cried. The contents were irrelevant, mostly chit-chat about life and what he missed in the Philippines, a country we had spent most of our life in as missionaries. I don't think I've gotten a letter from him since, aside from cards on holidays and special occasions. That wonderful, old-fashioned, communicative moment will be frozen in time: we were 17 and 19, and the only way we knew how to express ourselves was through the pen and paper.

Another great example of the personal touch of writing was dating. I have a box of letters, poems and drawings collected from the courtship period of my husband and I. He also has a box from me. Granted, they're in the attic collecting some serious dust. But the point is, we as humans recognize the power of the written word when forming an attachment.

So, in the next few days I'll be exploring the new terrain of my chocolate phone. And even though I'll marvel at the text messaging speed, tip calculator and fancy ringtones, my heart will still be it's happiest when I'm writing with my own hand. And if you ever want to receive or send a letter, send me your address, and I'll pull out all the stops...

Needles

2007-12-08T16:55:00.000-08:00

Three winters ago, a high school student taught me how to knit. Nothing fancy, just the basic 'knit' and 'purl' stitches. In an attempt to save money on a Christmas gift exchange at work, I used my new skills to knit my co-worker a funky little scarf. Turns out she loved the scarf and I enjoyed the process too. (Sidenote: my co-worker later showed me her new driver's license photo: she was wearing my scarf! My "maiden knitting voyage" had been immortalized by the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation.)

Last Fall I knitted myself a skinny, extra-long scarf: you know, the kind that can either be wrapped around your neck eighteen times or wrapped once with the ends dangling down to your ankles. I felt a definite sense of satisfaction upon completing that scarf. Except there was one thing plaguing me: the project was still just long and straight, with little difficulty. I was ready for a challenge.

However, between the looooooong, straight scarf and the beginning of a more challenging project, I got pregnant and had a baby girl. (Sidenote #2: I had every intention of knitting adorable little booties for my girl, or at least a little hat, before she was born. Instead, my husband & I decided to search for and buy our first home, paint, pack, move, and unpack. By the time we were settled into our new place, my daughter was a month from being born and I was too swollen and hot to think about knitting.)

My husband is currently swamped with work and grad school (and piano lessons and acting in "A Christmas Carol"), our son is almost four (plays well by himself), and our little girl just six months today, I now have the time to resume my knitting. And, with Christmas rapidly approaching, I am once again looking for thoughtful ways to make cheap gifts.

So, last week I stopped by my local library for books on knitting, picked up some yarn and have set off on what I hope will be miraculous, funky headband/earwarmers for two of my sisters-in-law. Gratefully, there are a few other beginning knitters (who are coincidentally also young moms) who want to meet & knit. And, much to our collective relief, there is a "knitting expert" at our church who is eager to share what she knows. (In college she knit her future-husband an Aran sweater...you know, those fancy Irish ones? Amazing! My husband has been trying for about a year to commission her to make one for him.)

Therefore, I must now retire my "typing fingers" in order to convert them into "knitting fingers". After all, there are only seventeen days until Christmas...

Lost

2007-11-28T20:42:00.000-08:00

Inspiration struck today. I was sitting in a women's Bible study at my church, reading from Psalm 130. Suddenly it hit me: this is the perfect material for a song!

I've been wanting to write a worship song that would actually be singable to a congregation, not just as a solo piece. And lately I've been thinking about a Christmas worship song--you know, something other than carols at Christmas? (Isn't it heretical to sing anything but the ole' standbys at Christmas?...) However, I have been suffering from serious "song-writers block" for about two years now.

In disbelief I read the Psalm again. It was so clear to me! The words were naturally poetic, yes, and I would make the melody simple, memorable, and the music would be guitar and piano based, maybe a little violin, light drums... I was being swept away by the idea of the song. In fact, I could already hear the people asking "who wrote that wonderful song?", and my ego beginning to swell. (You can see this is a weakness I am constantly fighting.) I could not wait to get a minute to myself to write down some lyric ideas, to grab my guitar or find a piano in the church to plunk out some melody lines!

The saddest thing is, by the time I did get the time alone, all inspiration was lost. I had to make photocopies, drive a friend and her baby home, make grilled cheese for lunch, my baby needed a nap, guitar students would be coming any minute and the house needed "maintenance". And now that this long day is over, I'm heartbroken at the thought of that song and all it's possibilities. Of course I will try to work on it tomorrow, but that creative moment of inspiration is lost.

I am, however, hopeful that God will yet show me the song I could almost hear, His new song, if I will just take the time to listen...

Psalm 130

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord!
O Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,
O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness,
That you may be feared.

I wait for the Lord, my would waits,
And in his word I hope;
My soul waits for the Lord
More than watchmen for the morning,
More than watchmen for the morning.

O Israel, hope in the Lord!
For with the Lord there is steadfast love,
And with him is plentiful redemption.
And he will redeem Israel
From all his iniquities.

Fragile

2007-11-26T12:11:00.000-08:00

I've spent a good part of the morning painting. One particular piece involves a Japanese-style flowering tree in black, white and red. This delicate arrangement of spindly black branches and small red blossoms remind me of winter with snow quietly falling. It is peaceful: the fragile balance between death and life.

I decorated our Christmas tree. White twinkle lights, an organized assortment of ornaments, each with significance, placed with intention. The tree is plastic though, and it's cheap artificiality is a contrast to the intense life and evolution represented in each ornament. The varied colors and shapes hanging from each poly-something branch remind me of the struggle and growth of each year: a fragile symbol of every season's journey.

Watching my son stare at the tree in wonder, barely touching the variety of curiosities it carries, reminds me of a beloved Christmas poem by e. e. cummings:

little tree
little silent christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see I will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

I will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would
only don't be afraid

look at the spangles
that sleep all year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains the red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and I'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and I will taken hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing "Noel Noel"

Sometimes I catch myself in a moment: my children are quiet and smiling, and there is some favorite song floating through the house. I look out the window and watch the cold wind blow the leaves violently from the oak tree in our back yard, thankful for a warm living room and the hypnotizing dance of the flames on our candles. It's magical: the fragile moments of beauty coming down from the Father of lights...

The Journey

2007-11-10T20:19:00.000-08:00

There is a poem by Chinese poet Li Po that has always resonated with me. It's called "The Hard Road", and right now, I feel like God has me on the hard road of the journey. I'm looking toward Christ, and there are beautiful moments and heartbreaking moments. I don't know how to sum it all up. All I can do is write out my favorite part of the poem below, and ask: O God, where are You taking me?

"...Journeying is hard,
Journeying is hard.
There are many turnings--
Which am I to follow?...
I will mount a long wind some day and
Break the heavy waves
And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge
The deep, deep sea."

Evil?

2007-10-31T12:00:00.001-07:00

So it's Halloween today, a controversial holiday for Christians. Some won't celebrate it because they feel it's acknowledging a sinful, evil day from the past. Some don't celebrate it because there are local community or church "harvest festivals" taking place instead, or they don't have a neighborhood suited for trick-or-treating. And others celebrate it without blinking twice.
I think our family is in a different category than the ones I've mentioned.

We are choosing to celebrate Halloween, purely to represent Christ.

Our church has a Harvest Festival every year on Halloween night, advertising it as an alternative to Halloween. They say it's a "safe place" for families to come in costumes and have fun, eat candy, play games, ride on a hay wagon, etc., while not celebrating the 'heathen' holiday. (Side note: isn't having a festival on Halloween night considered celebrating it? If not, we should have it on Nov. 4th or something...) And as members of the church, we are to invite our pre-Christian friends to attend, as a way of being a witness for Christ. However, last year, we realized there is a MAJOR flaw in this philosophy.

Christ has asked us to be Him to this world, as sinful as it is, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. So why would we (the body of Christ) choose the ONE day out of the year when every American leaves their home to knock on OUR door to not be home? It's like sucking all the salt and light out of America on one night and hiding it in a small building, just when you have the most opportunity to spread it.

So, if you are truly opposed to Halloween because of what it used to mean, then don't let your kids dress up. Don't carve pumpkins or put up cobwebs or silhouettes of black cats and witches in your windows. Don't watch scary movies. Or don't even go door to door in your neighborhood. But by all means, don't turn out the lights and lock the doors when you have a chance to love on your neighbors, get to know them and begin a friendship. You never know who Christ might bring to your door...

Carry On

2007-10-27T19:19:00.000-07:00

It actually flew by! The week of no make up, and more importantly, not paying so much attention to my outward appearance, is up. And I feel fine. Both a good friend and my husband said they didn't really even notice. Which is a compliment...I think. So, my conclusion is: carry on! I'll just keep taking the "simple way out" and enjoy the on-going process of humbling myself, and reminding me of just how small I am.

I had been hoping to unload Deep Thought #2 on you tonight, but I've had this pounding headache all day and am ready for bed. However, here are a few questions to get you started before my next blog:

1. Is it drawing attention to yourself to get your nose pierced? (Or in my case, re-pierced. I had it pierced for one summer in college.) When the Bible says women should not find their beauty in braided hair or gold jewelry, it seemed to mean, "Don't draw admiration by your outward, or "flashy" appearance." However, some people find it an "earthy" or "alternative", hippie-like thing to show you are a unique person. And others have even found a way to explain how it's a sign to show you are committed to your Master. So, I'd love to hear opinions on that... (More to come.)

2. When people give you things (ie. couches, dishes, framed watercolor of a goose), should you keep them out of obligation? Is it unethical to sell family antiques on e-bay? Or is keeping them poor stewardship because you are hording things you'll never use? (More on this to come...)

That's all I can say right now, except goodnight everyone. Blog you later.

Midweek

2007-10-24T14:14:00.001-07:00

Happy Wednesday. This has been day 3 of make-up-less me, and so far it's going pretty well. I have gotten a few "what's different about you?" glances from people at church. I noticed it more when they were men. But I also noticed something about my attitude toward other women when I'm wearing make-up and feel "pretty": it's as if I'm trying to get some sort of "upper hand". As if trying to look attractive will make me a more valuable person. That is just dark and ugly.

I'm sort of enjoying this new level of simplicity. I'm still taking care of myself--just not focusing on getting dressed and ready FOR THE PURPOSE of "impressing" people. At least I am trying to...

On another note, "The Irresistible Revolution" is finished! Wow, what a challenge that book was. It makes me want to move to the West Coast and start a house church, all of us sharing and growing. In the mean time, I'm evaluating how I can love my neighbors better right here:

~by raking our neighbors leaves
~by having stay at home moms over for a "play date" even though I don't really like "play dates"
~by sending notes of encouragement to the elderly who are in nursing homes
~by calling my family more
~by being so excited for our neighbors when they get new windows and siding (and talking about it for a 1/2 hour!)
~by volunteering for ministries outside of my comfort zone
~by sewing a quilt for a friend having a baby (and I don't really sew...)
~by having lunch with my alcoholic friend, even when it breaks my heart and I don't know how to help her

The list can go on. And it should go on.

If you have suggestions of how to simply show love, please write them down for me. Each of our situations is different, but Christ never gave excuses for not showing love. I'll bet we could really encourage each other to BE CHRIST to everyone we meet--and that's way better than any book club!

Squeaky Clean?

2007-10-20T19:38:00.000-07:00

I just blew a layer of dust off this blog and am hoping you don't mind, dear (oblivious?) readers. After the "almost-cut-off-our-internet" scare (of which I'm still semi-recovering from), I dropped the e-ball and got e-behind on my e-mail and e-blogging from my busy e-schedule. But to compensate, I've been thinking some very DEEP thoughts, one of which I will share below.

Before I get into the depths, a quick book update: I am SERIOUSLY almost done with "The Irresistible Revolution"--only 43 out of almost 400 pages to go! I strayed in my loyalty to the author (Shane Claiborne) when he started getting a little enraged about Christians-and-politics, but now I'm back on track and enjoying the last handful of pages. He really has so many inspiring chapters about plain ole' loving people, and what professing Christ-followers should be behaving like. Not just saying it, or singing it, but LIVING Christ's love.

On another book note, I was halfway through the MP3 audiobook of "Marie Antoinette: The Journey" (biography) when the mini MP3-player had a glitch. I'm currently in negotiations with my local library about it, as this technological disappointment is dragging my book-finishing average waaaaaaaay down.

Serious, deep thought #1: Two nights ago I had to leave the house in a hurry. That meant I jumped out of the shower, threw clothes on, tied a red bandanna on my head, strapped two kids into the car and sped off. Now, if you're not a woman, I'll have to point out the significance of this hasty exit: I am wearing NO MAKE-UP. And since everyone who reads this has known me for a minimum of 8 years, it should be pretty clear that I usually do care about my appearance. With my history of teenage (and early college) vanity and shallow reliance on the "outward appearance" for self-worth, leaving like that was an irritant. I mean, don't get me wrong: 20 minutes is typically enough for me to get ready to face "the world"--whoever that is.

However, all the way to my destination I kept thinking, "I don't have any eyeliner on and I forgot my earrings. My hair is wet and it will probably do that stupid curl thing in front, just where it's NOT cute. People are going to think I look so OLD and tired." And the more I thought these thoughts, the more convicted I became about how much I really depend on the admiration of others to feel confident or valuable.

My husband has been telling me for almost ten years that he thinks I'm pretty without eye makeup or lipstick, and even teases me when I get "done up" by asking, "Who are you trying to impress?" To which I always resentfully reply, "Well...it's not FOR anyone else specifically, but it makes me feel better about myself to look nice." And yet I know that's a lie.

When I put make-up on and "do" my hair (about 6 minutes with the straightening iron will do the "flip" thing I like...), I feel pretty. And I honestly do want people to admire me. And when I go out looking like plain old me, I hate feeling like people won't notice me. But Christ lived His life to be un-admired--even scorned. (See Isaiah 53--it's very moving!) And instead of choosing to be un-admired, I am secretly trying to rack up "beauty points" here on earth. What is the difference between me and the average 20-something, humanistic city girl reading Cosmo and complaining about her pores being too large? (At this time, I'd like to confess that at one point I owned about 14 different kinds of lip gloss or lipstick. I kept buying new kinds, trying to find the "perfect" one.) There is no difference except that I claim to love and follow after a humble man who wanted to invisibly (and unattractively) save hurting, lost people from the sadness of themselves.

My little girl just turned four months, and she is just beautiful. But everytime I look at her I think, "Sweet girl, I hope you NEVER wear make-up because you just don't need it, and it's not important!" I don't want her to think her appearance is what makes her valuable and lovable. But how will she EVER learn that from a mother who spends so much energy thinking about her appearance?

So, here is my challenge to myself: I am going to stop wearing make-up for one week. I want to feel those pangs of insecurity when I talk to someone, knowing I don't look attractive in the eyes of the world. I hope to remember that my life's goal is NOT to attract people to myself, but to Christ. Ironically, I am singing at church tomorrow and I usually get extra done up for "performances"--which leading worship should NEVER be. (That's another blog altogether!) I will be praying for humility and then will blog my thoughts at the end of this week.

Serious, deep thought #2: Antiques and Noserings? (To be continued...)

Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye

2007-10-09T07:19:00.000-07:00

We decided to get rid of our cable and internet today. That means I'll be blogging less (not that the fans will rise in uproar...) and checking e-mail less. And I'll probably stop sending "hatching eggs" on facebook. I'm kind of sad.

When we finally got the internet at home, about a year and a half ago, I felt like I was finally connected to people again. Before that, alone in our apartment in a region new to me, I had become isolated, a little self-focused and moody. But when we got the internet I felt like I could breathe again...as if family and friends weren't that far away. Just a click, or a few letters on the keyboard. And now...well, it's back to the distance and selfishly, the inconvenience.

But the cable, I am elated about eliminating. This morning, to commemorate my 3-year-old son's last day to watch PBS Kids, I let him watch an educational cartoon while eating his Kix cereal. After it was over, I jumped up and turned it off. He proceded to whine in a high-pitched voice, "But Mama, I HAVE to watch t.v.!" That made me shudder and I couldn't even say anything. I just thought, "Wow, I am so glad we are getting rid of this thing."

The decision to eliminate our cable and internet is mainly a financial one. However, there is a huge appeal in not being able to flip on the t.v. whenever I get bored or, more realistically, am trying to avoid doing housework. Just knowing it's there causes me to make excuses to sit down for "just a half hour"--which usually turns into a solid hour. And seeing my son falling into the same trap? It gives me courage that this non-internet, non-t.v. time will be so good for our family.

My husband and I will probably talk a lot more, and play more scrabble, and have more people over. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to finish some of the books on my long list. (By the way, I've kind of regressed in that area: I've started two more books! I have so many things I want to learn, and not enough hours. Maybe that's a sign that I'm ready for grad school? Ahhhh...that's another blog altogether.) I can still check my e-mail at the local library and at our church--for a combined total of about 3 "e-mail checks" a week. And when I'm wallowing in self-pity or loneliness, I will remember, "Hey, in some countries, people don't even have water and food, let alone the internet!"

So, in honor of my coming respite from daily internet-ing, (surfing?), I'll like to offer a moment of silence:
...
...
...
...
...
...

Okay, that's enough. Goodbye for now, and back to the daily noise...

Pages

2007-10-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

There is seriously a HUGE pile of books in my room (distributed throughout the space so as not to appear quite so overwhelming) that I want to read. I have books I've borrowed, bought, checked out from the library, or recently found in boxes. Why do I EVER watch television when there are just so many great books to read that I'll never get to?

You (imaginary readers?) might be wondering exactly what books I'm talking about. Well, hold your breath no longer...I'm going to list some of them for you now, including a "blurb" about them. I'm going to make it my goal to read one book a week and review/summarize here on my blog afterward. A sort of...accountability, if you will. And if you, dear blog-reader, happen to have read the same book, please let me know what you thought of it. Here we go:

1. "The Irresistible Revolution: living as an ordinary radical" by Shane Claiborne
"...Shane Claiborne invites you into a moment of the Spirit that begins in the heart and extends through our hands into a broken world. Using examples from his own unconventional life, Shane Claiborne stirs up questions about the church and the world, challenging you to live out an authentic Christian faith. This book will comfort the disturbed, disturb the comfortable, and invite believers to change the world with Christ's radical love."

2. "Don't Waste Your Life" by John Piper
"John Piper's plea to a generation is, 'don't waste your life!' This book is a passionate call to make your life count for eternity. He acknowledges that there are risks for those who seek to make a lasting difference by faith, yet he believes that they are risks worth taking for the cause of the Gospel."

3. "Islam For Dummies" by Malcolm Clark
"You don't have to be Muslim to understand Islam. This friendly guide introduces you to the origins and practices of Islam, including the Five Pillars and Life-cycle rituals. You'll discover the significance of Muhammad and the Qur'an and meet the various Islamic sects. You'll also see how Islam has adapted over time and read about current developments in the Islamic world."

4. "Boundaries" by Cloud and Townsend
"Often, Christians focus so much on being loveing and unselfish that they forget their own limits and limitations..."

5. "Art for God's Sake: A Call To Recover The Arts" by Philip Graham Ryken
"The creation sings to us with the visual beauty of God's handiwork. But what of man-made art? Much of it is devoid of sacred beauty and is often rejected by Christians. Christian artists struggle to find acceptance within the church. If all of life is to be viewed as 'under the lorship of Christ', can we rediscover what God's plan is for the arts?"

6. "The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment" by Jeremiah Burroughs
"I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content" - Philippians 4:11

7. "Shepherding a Child's Heart" by Tedd Tripp
"[This book] is about how to speak to the heart of your child. The things your child does and says flows from the heart. Luke 6:45 puts it this way, '...out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.' ...This insightful book provides perspectives and procedures for shepherding your child's heart into the paths of life.

8. "Leaves of Grass" poetry by Walt Whitman

"To A Certain Cantatrice

Here, take this gift,
I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or general,
One who should serve the good old cause, the great
idea, the progress and freedom of the race,
Some brave contronter of despots, some daring rebel;
But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you
just as much as to any."

If you read through all of that and are still reading this, than you are officially: a reader. Congratulations...it's nice to have a friend on this journey...

Falling Down

2007-09-20T20:08:00.000-07:00

There is something about summer that depresses me. It's not the heat, or the humidity. It's not the thought of showing up to a pool in a bathing suit IN PUBLIC. (Although that is very scary.) But something inside me starts to become a monumental failure the moment calendars are switched over to June, and it lasts through August.

So, being September, I can finally step back and evaluate this latest personal flop: how bad was it this year? Oddly enough, there is so much life in the summer: kids are happy, school is out, vacations are taken, grills sizzle and families get together. And I used to be one of those kids--happy, care-free, taking vacations with my family. And now? Life seems to be passing me by. Business is like a dark cloud, covering the sun, and all the fun things of summer aren't fun because they appear to be happening to everyone else.

What does this seasonal depression look like? Mostly avoiding the sunshine, ("It's too hot to go outside!") and staying inside reading books, watching movies and eating a lot of macaroni and cheese. And not the real kind, but the deliciously-almost-plastic-flourescent-orange-cheese kind in the blue box. (I'd mention it's brand name, but I don't want Kraft to sue me, or worse...cut me off.) I still take my kids to the library, the grocery store, or the post office. We go for bike rides and make flowers and trains out of play dough. But the main thing is the lethargy. And the overwhelming sadness.

By sadness I mean, I find things to be sad about. I look back, examine my past and get sad over things that wouldn't bother me in the least in March or October. I miss friends I'm not in touch with anymore; feel regret over a box of journals and books I lost in a move in Chicago; lament activities I could do "before kids", like go to theme parks, coffee shops and dressing rooms...by myself. I play sad music on my guitar and write pretty lame poetry. But the worst thing is that I take my eyes off of Christ.

Really, this depression is just an excuse for selfishness, or focusing on self. I start to point my chin down, and refuse to look up to the sky. The brightest time of the whole year, and I refuse to point my face to the light! And now that this internal darkness has come every summer for the past four years, you'd think I'd get it. Every Fall for several years now I think, Wow...I just wasted an entire summer feeling sorry for myself and ignoring my Best Friend--the only One who will never lose track of me, accidentally forget about me, or purposefully push me away.

So, even though it's September 20th and not December 31st, I'm going to make a resolution. I'm going to read this post again right before next summer starts and make up my mind to fall apart--in a heap before my Savior. I'm going to beg Him to remind me during those beautifully long summer days that with all the gleaming sunshine all around me, He is my true Light. And when I'm tempted to flop on the couch in self-loathing, self-serving apathy, to come to Him. He might ask me to do something uncomfortable, like ask a neighbor and her daughter over to swim in our kiddie pool. (Or worse yet, to weed the garden and make my husband proud...) He might ask me to actually STOP thinking about how I feel, and start caring about what others are going through. He might just say, "Stop whining and get on your knees. Be honest with me and stop looking back at what has been. It doesn't matter anymore anyway!" And what I'd really like is to grow up and listen. And obey...

Process In Process

2007-09-18T09:13:00.000-07:00

So a friend from high school and I are currently producing a song together. I wrote the music and words: simple lyrics about the hope of a new year in my relationship with God, gentle guitar strumming, etc. But my friend is adding all kinds of great beats, synthesizer backgrounds and extra effects on the vocals to make it more...post-modern. (I guess the coffee house era is over?)

I'll include the lyrics below, for your evaluation. And be honest. I'll try and post the song when it's done...somehow. On my myspace page. (www.myspace.com/kellistrahm)

Interestingly enough, I haven't really written a song in years. I used to consider myself on the edge of music, writing emotional, poignant words and playing my guitar to communicate my message. But since having children and moving out of the city, it seems so much of my "inspiration" has been lost in the daily routine of diapers, dishes, and serious domestication. What happened to the ragged, inspired musician I once was? To take a quote from Jane Austen's Mansfield Park, "Life is nothing more than a daily succession of busy nothings." At least, in looking for songwriting content, that's how it seems.

I've tried writing worship songs. Nothing. Love songs? Nothing. Angry, angst-ridden songs? Nothing. (Where did that 'tortured' college girl go?) So my new interest is "modernizing" some French peices I sang in college. Maybe putting some poetry (including Biblical) to music. But that's one of my new prayers: God, please give me music! You give, and You take away. Please return my voice to me...

New Year

Well it's the time for wishing
For hoping dreams will come true
And so I continue
To foster hopes of knowing You
Every new beginning
Is like a sad goodbye too
To who we were at this time
When the year shone like new

Well I'll admit I'm frightened
Of failing You again
You should be like a lover
Not like a long-lost friend
So, here's to perseverance
And here's to all that's good and true
This pride it must diminish
If I'm to be at all like You

This fear and hope is vexing
And I feel like shouting out
"I'm new and clean and perfect!
Restored without a doubt"
But what about tomorrow?
Is my destiny to fall?
Oh heart, keep this reminder:
He has paid it all...

Give Me Jesus

2007-09-15T21:11:00.000-07:00

It's late at night and I keep thinking about Jesus. Tomorrow morning, at my church, I was asked to sing the old Christian spiritual, "Give Me Jesus". Below are the lyrics. The melody is even more lovely and I think Fernando Ortega has the best version I've ever heard.

(You can hear it on his album "Hymns of Worship", c.2003. I also highly recommend the song "Jesus, King of Angels" from his album "The Breaking of the Dawn", c.1998. Most of Fernando Ortega's music is available on iTunes.)

In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
Give me Jesus

Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
Give me Jesus

Just about the break of day
Just about the break of day
Just about the break of day
Give me Jesus

And when I am alone
Oh, and when I am alone
And when I am alone
Give me Jesus

And when I come to die
Oh, when I come to die
And when I come to die
Give me Jesus

Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
You can have all this world
You can have all this world
Give me Jesus...

Do I really live this out? You can have all this world...just give me Jesus? In the midst of my materialism, sitting up in my beautiful house, typing on a mac, contemplating the chords I'll be playing on my gorgeous Taylor guitar (hint: it's one of the best guitars out there...), an ipod in my purse, alongside the tiny digital camera (so I don't have to miss a moment!)...can I honestly say "you can have all this world"?

I feel a knot of hypocrisy in my throat and only hope that as I end this late-night blog, I won't forget these thoughts when I wake up in the morning, and later when I sing this song in front of 300 people...

In the morning when I rise,
Just about the break of day,
And when I am alone,
And when I come to die,

Give me Jesus.

Irresistible?

2007-09-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

"Perhaps it should not surprise us that Jesus says that if the Christians remain silent, then the rocks will cry out...or the rock stars, I guess." That's a quote from Shane Claiborne's book "The Irresistible Revolution: Living As An Ordinary Radical". I'm reading the book right now (am currently on page 191) and it's turning my view of Christianity upside down.

I've always known we are to love people and serve others, but I am positive now that my view of what Christ meant by love and serve are VERY different from what I'm doing. Claiborne meant by his above quote that it's embarrassing how many more celebrities and "rock stars" care about people dying of AIDS, the environment and homelessness than we, the body of Christ, do. We "love" through short-term missions trips, donating to the Salvation Army (mostly during our mad spring cleaning phase), and aren't really loving at all, just from a distance.

I don't know what God is doing in my heart, but I definitely feel I need to make some changes. But what can I do? How do I, the wife of a youth pastor, mom of two little kids, living in an affluent county on the East Coast, make a difference? God, who do You want me to LOVE in the way You intended?

I highly recommend reading this book--it will really change you. And as some books will make you think and then you will go back to the routine, this book won't let you do that. If anyone out there has read it or wants to, send me a comment. I'd love to dialogue about it.

Airlines & Infants

2007-09-12T11:42:00.000-07:00

It feels like the first day of a new week, even though it's Wednesday. The rain finally cleared, leaving behind my freshly watered flowers and tomato plant, covered sunshine and a cool breeze. Fall feels almost a day away and I'm actually looking forward to the chilling weather so I can use my oven again.

The women's Bible study at my church, which I'll simply call "Hilltown", just met this morning for the first time since the Spring. We began Beth Moore's study on the apostle John and already I feel a sense of determination to regain consistency in my daily time in God's Word. She is such a powerful speaker, and I'm grateful it's a video series so I can see her expressions and laugh at her odd humor with the women in her live audience. Plus, it's nice to have somewhere to be every Wednesday morning where there's childcare available...

I just booked a flight to visit my parents and brother in the south. I'm taking my baby girl, Ella, with me on the flight. That in itself inspires stomach cramps because I just know she'll be the SCREAMING baby for the whole trip. She's a happy girl, but like her mother, doesn't have a very high pain tolerance. (Is a 3-month-old too young to chew gum?) Plus there is the added tension of wondering if the passenger next to me will mind me flopping a breast out to nurse the little doll when she's hungry. Which will, inevitably, be every flight of the layover-in-Detroit-on-the-way-there-and-back. It will be worth it though, to have my brother meet his first neice for the first time. Since he's unmarried and childless, I've singlehandedly supplied the only grandchildren my parents have. Spoiled? No, I don't think so. Loved? Definitely, and from all over the world, as they travel often.

Hopefully while I'm away for the weekend, my husband and son will have a great time. I am resisting the urge to write down "fun things" they can do while I'm gone, as it would be an insult to my husband. But this time alone together will be good for them. And while they are catching up on "guy time", I'm going to try and catch up on reading on the flights. We'll see if I can balance an infant, blanket, pacifyer, bottle of water (airport sanctioned, of course), tiny airline napkin, bag of mini-pretzels and a book all at the same time. And all that while the "big guy" next to me elbows me and my baby, alternately, while getting comfortable or going to and from the lavatory. Don't you just love flying?

Welcome to the world warped web

2007-09-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

I don't appreciate bloggers who begin their very first blog with "So...I've never blogged before and I'm so excited", etc. But faced with an empty white box and at least twelve minutes of free time left to type, the deep thoughts and huge questions are elusive.

My friend Heidi said if I started a blog, she knows at least two people who would read it. And so I begin with an audience of two, hoping to entertain and create a place of interest and curiousity. I plan to talk about books, music, life with a husband and kids, the reality of daily attempting to follow Christ (and how I fail...) and maybe a few cheesy jokes too. And if no one checks it, at least I'll be able to say to my kids someday, "Yeah, I used to BLOG!" and maybe they'll think I'm semi-cool.

So, here goes: I've never blogged before, and I'm so excited...