River Rocks

Loved This Movie

2011-12-12T21:42:00.001-08:00

In Search of the Wow Wow Wibble Woggle Wazzie Woodle Woo!

Some Things I Like....

2011-12-11T12:18:00.000-08:00

 The word awesome

 Drawing

 Pretty pictures

 Hope

 Journaling

 When ideas come together

 Good coffee

 Peanut butter and chocolate ice cream

 Dengue Fever the band

 Reading a good poem

 Stories that intrigue me

 Dreams, especially the ones where I return to a familiar place

 Funny quotes

 The smiles on children’s faces

 A child’s whimsy

 The word whimsical

 “The Princess Bride”

 Good music

 iTunes

 the smell of popcorn

 Witty humor

 When I get into writing and it comes together

 Collage

 Viewing art that makes me think or say “Wow!” 

 Pizza

 Good coffee

 Managing data in Excel

 Games with friends

 Seeing new places

 Being challenged out of my comfort zones

 Apple cinnamon candles

 When you totally connect with people and don’t have to force it

 Cinnamon rolls

 Angel coffee

 Walking

 Talking

 Praying

Art Night in the SGV

2011-11-30T21:16:00.000-08:00

A van tricked out like a giant fly. A musical tribute to John Coltrane. 3 – Dimensional artwork viewed through 3-D glasses. A multi-cultural celebration of the book the local library has encouraged a city to read. Artists’ work on display at over ten venues. Authors reading from their current work, teenagers showing their films produced at a local non-profit, and a dance troupe performing dances inspired by cancer survivors and patients.

These were just some of the opportunities a person could view, listen to, ponder over, and scratch their heads at on the weekend of March 13-14th in the city of Pasadena, California. The event was the semi-annual ArtNight (Art Weekend) Pasadena which included Art Night on Friday evening at multiple venues across the city and Art Talk on Saturday afternoon at the Boston Court Performing Arts Center. This is the occasion twice a year when all of Pasadena’s museums and cultural arts venues open their doors for free to all patrons.

A new addition to the event was the Art Talk event on Saturday which celebrated art in a variety forms but primarily through the written and spoken word. Another addition was the Side Street Projects One-Night-Only Exhibition- Jalopy: Vehicles as Art and Artifact, that was on display in a vacant lot on North Fair Oaks. Artists came together, including Michael Gump, Baron Margo, and Miles Eastman, to show there “art cars” and “art buses” for display along with the Woodworking Bus, 1-Second Film Project, and Funky Junk Farms.

Alliance Francaise is a local organization which was a driving force behind last year’s Fete de la Musique event, a celebration of music held in conjunction with the original festival on the streets of Paris and multiple festivals on city streets across the globe. The organization’s aim is to provide French cultural programming to the people of Pasadena and the greater Los Angeles-area. This year, they mounted an exhibit by an artist from Nice, France, named Stephane Blanchard whose art has Latin and Asian influences.

Local restaurants gave discounts to patrons who showed their wristbands. Admission is free for everyone and it is an event for all ages to enjoy. Shuttles provided transportation from one venue to another for added convenience. In addition to the shuttles, which allow you to park at one location and travel to the other venues throughout the city comfortably, there are also organized bicycle tours and you can get their information at http://www.cicle.org/.

Art Night is a collaborative effort of several arts organization in the area, the Cultural Affairs Division of the City of Pasadena and is sponsored by the Pasadena Arts & Culture Commission. This event happens twice a year, one weekend in March and one weekend in October, with themes and exhibits varying each time. The next Art Night will be the weekend of Friday, October 9th, so write the date in to your calendars and plan to get here by car, by train or bus, by bicycle, or on foot.

Ciclavia: On the Streets of DTLA!

2011-10-09T16:26:00.000-07:00

Street tacos on the street, these are real tortillas and they were great!

Live Performance Art in the Street

An art piece made by the Occupy LA people (sleeping on the street)

Movie filming on the streets of DTLA!

Guess Who's Come To America?????

2011-09-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

This bad boy is known as the Aedes Albopictus or in plain English: The Tiger Mosquito. And, guess what he brought with him. Can't guess? He has brought his friends: Yellow Fever, Dengue Fever, St. Louis Enciphilitis, and Chikungunya. I know that it is unreasonable TO WORRY but...

Dude! I got Dengue Fever four years ago and it was not a Neil Diamond music spectacular. And, there is the fear of what can happen if I get bit again. Mosquitoes somehow find the blood that flows through my veins to be as tasty as Hot Cheetohs are to children. Plus, reading the symptoms for the other diseases, don't make things any better.

One has to wonder how such a tiny thing can wreak such havoc on people.

That said, I wish these guys well on their Incredible Journey through the American Southwest and hope that they see what they want to see without leaving anything behind.

P.S. Here's hoping they are on a tour of America while on a fast!

Family History on Labor Day Weekend

2011-09-11T11:06:00.000-07:00

(Great Grandma Gertrude, Grandma Jean, Mom, Dad, Me)

This past weekend, I spent time in the Bay Area with my mom's family. It was great to be back in a place I have been visiting all my life. The house in Orinda, the smell of the redwoods, the Berkeley Tunnel, the names on the signs, the familiarity of it all was lovely.

While talking about family history, my aunt, Bodil, pulled out a box of photograph and letters that they had received from my Grandma Jean (mom of my mom, Sharon) and we looked through them Sunday evening. The coolest part was hearing my family's stories that I had never heard before.

There were the set of letters from my Great Grandma Gertrude to my Grandma when she was in her early 20's,spending summers in Monterey. GG wrote to her about the strikes by the communists that were going on in Berkeley, Piedmont, Oakland, San Francisco, and so on. My great-grandfather, Arthur Beckett, Jean's father, was a wealthy business owner in the East Bay and was not appreciative of worker's strikes though I don't know how he treated his workers either, I'd like to imagine he was one of the good ones. I looked this piece of history up: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1934_West_Coast_waterfront_strike. How appropriate for Labor Day weekend, eh?

The other cool part was hearing some of the letters that Grandfather, William Sullivan, wrote to my Grandma Jean, when they were dating and she was in Monterey for the summer. While Aunt Bo read them out loud, my uncle exclaimed, "My father did not write those letters!" It was amusing to hear the exchange and think back upon people that I knew from my childhood, trying to imagine my grandfather saying those things. This was the same grandpa, who would scold us for playing in the kitchen or touching the curtains while visiting their house. The same grandpa who had Alzheimer's for most of my teenage years. This was Grandpa Sully.

Well, I am thankful to have the connection to my mom's family, knowing that so many of them have passed away from this life.

2011-08-31T19:28:00.000-07:00

The Last Unicorn (1984)


"The Last Unicorn" 1984

At the age of 9, I was in love with horses. In particular, mystical horses with one horn called unicorns. Loved the movie, "The Last Unicorn". Loved Rainbow Brite who rode a unicorn with a rainbow mane and tail. Loved the Cosgroves book series, which included, Morgan- a unicorn. I wanted a unicorn. I coveted one, which knowing myself, probably confessed to the priest in the 3rd grade at Catholic school.

Now, unicorns, don't really interest me much at all. But, I came upon this photo that I had saved to my computer once upon a time for some reason or another and began reflecting. Man, I poured tears over that movie, "The Last Unicorn". Buckets of tears for a movie I don't remember, except the name obviously implies the reason for the tears.

Though unicorns are not captivating any longer...this is my guided imagery, my zen focus, my centering prayer image.

So, I’m going to tell you about this river...

2011-08-23T19:31:00.001-07:00

   ***This is a piece that I submitted to an anthology for the Summer Fishtrap 2011 Writing Workshop. The theme was Migrations & Passages and I attended the Young Adult Fiction Workshop.****

       So, I’m going to tell you about this river that doesn’t look like one anymore.

       But, it used to.

       Before all the people came, it flowed the way it wanted to, when it wanted to, how, where; you get the idea. And, every so often, this river would flood, charting a new course entirely between the mountains and
the ocean.

Back then, there were only a few people who lived near this river and they learned to move with it and change course when it did. They learned to dance in rhythm to the song of the river. They lived with the land and the water and the sky. They called themselves Gabrielinos and Tongvas.

Then, the people started coming; first on boats, then on wagons and horses, and eventually on trains. They were new to this land, this river. They called themselves Spaniards and Americans. Many of them didn’t bother to learn the ways of the river. They liked their music and their dancing- it was their way.

And, when the river did what it did every so often, many of these men, their wives and their children died. The people, after so much loss, were angry and sad and wanted to fix things, to tame this river.

Envigored by their success in getting the people of the land to wear their starchy shirts and move into their box houses and sell this thing or clean that thing, they set about making plans to tame it.

They knew they would face challenges- as they had with the men of the land that had refused to change and fought back- the river may not yield. But, there was confidence in the fact that many had adapted to move in rhythm with the flow of their fellow men in the name of progress.

By 1930, engineers and designers from the East had found a way to build a concrete suit for this river to flow down. They called it amazing. They called it necessary. They called it a success. And, in 1945, the river stopped moving to it’s own tune, flowing quietly the same way year after year while the men built up and out, a massive, unforgiving city rising on its banks.

****Growing up in the Northwest, along the shores of the Columbia River, was an awesome experience.   The power and beauty and freedom in its flow captured my imagination early on. Moving to Los Angeles
meant no more rivers to walk along and stoke the imagination; the LA River being infamous for not looking like a real river. One day though, I discovered a section of the river where nature was proudly asserting itself, standing tall in this concrete-entombed river claiming its right to be there. And, the powerful feelings that rivers evoke were rekindled. Attending Fishtrap gave me an opportunity to see those rivers of my youth again while working on this piece about the rivers of my adulthood.****

Let Children Be Children

2011-08-21T10:50:00.000-07:00

My sister works as a speech therapist in the schools and is a mom. She posted this on Facebook and I am reposting it here to share. So true!

Repost: Mashup of Beatles vs. Fatboy Slim "Walrus of Choice"

2011-08-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

Words

2011-08-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

Words don't always work.   They don't always come off the tongue or formulate correctly- to express that which is inside you. Sometimes, words just don't work for a situation.

Like when someone's wife dies too early, at age 37, of aggressive cancer. Words don't really work.

But, sometimes they do work. Like when the husband simply states, "F*** You", in his blog entry about a callous first responders words upon walking in to his wife's room at the ER while Jeff is relaying to the rest of the responders what happened, "What do we have here, a DOA?" The F bomb was perfect.

Sometimes I lay too many words down that didn't need to be said. Built a brick road next to the dirt one that was perfectly fine.

What would church look like if we couldn't speak to each other? If people couldn't speak, there would be no one person up front teaching a whole bunch of people who are sitting and listening (or at least pretending to do so). Would we serve more then?

Would we be able to live the words of Jesus out because we would waste less time talking about doing so?

Am I being an idealist by wishing this were the case? It is easy for me to hide behind words. To talk about doing this or that but when faced with doing it, we struggle or run or come up with excuses for why we can't in that moment follow through. It is easy for me to want to fix another's deep soul pain by talking, as if I can solve it like a Challenging Sudoku puzzle or Level 12 on Tetris or a mathematic proof.

I can't argue with someone's pain, someone's deep soul level aching.   I can listen. I can comfort but words don't really work, they never really have. They tend to make situations worse.

It's not to be figured out. Job and his friends tried to do that- to figure it out and in the end God kept telling them- "I'm God. I made all this and you did not. It is beyond you to figure it out."

So, as I wrestle with the death of a friend, too young to die in my mind. I write with words this post and realize that I still don't know. I still haven't figured it out but it just is.

All The Cities in the World By Age 19

2011-08-05T16:22:00.001-07:00

                                               This was from a journal entry at the age of 16.

                                        The plan was just that. Did I accomplish that goal? No way.

          A city in general is a permanent settlement of people. Wikipedia has a whole range of categories to choose from defining what a city is. At 16, the definition of a city was just that it was big so for the sake of this blog post, I will use the definition that a city has to have a minimum of 100,000 residents in the metro area to be on the list.

         Narrowing it down to this qualifier, by age 19, I had visited just 7 cities: Seattle, WA – Portland, OR – San Francisco, CA/Oakland, CA – Los Angeles, CA – Calgary, Alberta, Canada – Cleveland, OH - San Diego, CA. The goal was definitely not met.

         However, by my college graduation, 3 more were added to this list: Accra, Ghana – Kumasi, Ghana – Bristol, England, UK.

         By age 30, 8 more were added: Bangkok, Thailand - Phnomh Penh, Cambodia – Atlanta, GA – Jackson, MS – New York City, NY – Phoenix, AZ – Washington, DC – Boston, MA.

         As you can see from the list above, there are many cities not on this list. Will I see them in this lifetime? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The next city in sight is Chicago in 2012. Beyond that, the world is wide open. Meanwhile, people from all over the world come to this city that I currently live in. They come here to visit and to live. To escape and to build anew. To live the dream and to dream the life. And, for that fact alone, I enjoy my time here and am thankful for all that I have seen and all the people I have met.

Modern Day Slavery

2011-05-17T16:46:00.000-07:00

http://www.castla.org/key-stats

Slavery and Prostitution- in existence longer than fire or the wheel. Prostitution is called the oldest career in the books. What we see today is just same story, different cover.

Everything is reinvented. Helpful or not helpful to mankind. Some would probably argue that slavery is helpful to some parts of mankind. It keeps prices low at the grocery store. It helps commerce happen. Others would then argue that prostitution too is useful for mankind. Still, the business of making money is what drives this. Those who view these activities/businesses as legitimate are speaking because it benefits there wallets more than it does benefit the population it purports to help. People will always argue when their wallets are threatened. Skilled arguers will find ways to make it sound plausible. They could convince a bird to clip its wings if they wanted to.

Modern Day Slavery is the same story, different cover. People are still being exploited for their labor throughout the world. Different tactics. Different reasons. Same outcomes.

Exploited people are trampled on people. Exploited people are captives. In fact, I would argue that all players in this game are captives. To greed. To evil. To lust. To life itself.

And my hope is to be able to see freedom come to these captives in my lifetime. It only takes a mustard seed.

Deciding to Decide

2011-02-03T10:11:00.000-08:00

Vanilla or chocolate? CREST with Cool Mint Gel and Whitening or Colgate Total? This shampoo or that shampoo? Should I fly out on the 6pm flight on Southwest or the 1pm flight on Jet Blue? Apple jelly on my frozen yogurt? Pepperoni on my pizza? Watch "Harry Potter" at the cheap theater or wait until it comes out on DVD? Buy the 2-ply toilet paper from Ralph's or the 1-ply toilet paper that's cheaper??????????????????????????????????

Every day, decisions are made. Sometimes we breeze through the decisions without flinching. Vanilla because then I can put chocolate sauce on top. Colgate because Crest is owned by Procter & Gamble, who support the Church of Satan, or so I heard in college. This shampoo because it's cheaper. The 6pm flight because I can go to work. Apple jelly- Yes please! Pepperoni- no, I don't like meat! Wait for DVD. 2-ply because 1-ply is flimsy.

And, sometimes, we procrastinate, debate, and make a simple decision much more of an ordeal than it needs to be. Or, at least I do. I was up until 3:45 in the morning trying to narrow down which plane ticket to buy. In the end, the winner of eeny-meeny-miney mo won out. Though, right after the purchase was made and I was laying in my bed, the thought of the other itinerary gripped me. Perhaps, I will still change it. There is time. At least now I actually have a ticket, whereas yesterday I was going in my head and not in actuality.

I wish that there was a spotlight on every decision. I wish I didn't worry so much. I wish that I didn't overspiritualize and analyze and take a decision like vanilla or chocolate in to the stratosphere of my analytical thought patterns. Agonizing over the very details of the simple decision that has little weight in the universe. Pick the vanilla, eat it, and get it over with. Get the chocolate next time. But, as an NF, I want to feel a certain way and when that feeling is gone, when that security is elusive, then the craziness is ensues.

NO ONE SHOULD BE BOUGHT OR SOLD. EVER.

2011-01-28T10:59:00.001-08:00

No one should be bought or sold. Ever.

Even if there is precedent.

Even if we are desperate.

Even if the person consents to it.

Even if the transaction is legal.

Even if the person doesn't see themselves as being bought or sold.

Even if one calls it a "job".

This is not what we were made for. This is not part of the plan. It has come about over time. But, it doesn't have to be. Nothing has to be the way it is just because it is. We can always dream. Always hope. Always persevere. Faith is the belief in things unseen.

The Christmas Story (According to Jaedyn)

2010-12-27T17:09:00.000-08:00

Christmas of 2008 was the year that I decided it was time to talk to my nephew about Jesus. After all, He is one of the reasons the world celebrates Christmas (hence the name). Jaedyn was 4-years-old that year and energetic. Well, he still is that- energetic. But, he did sit down on the couch for long enough for me to tell him about a baby born one night in a barn and that he was a special baby who came to help the world.

At this point, Jae turned and told me, no asking, just telling, "Then, he climbed up the beanstalk Aunt B.J."

I paused reflecting on this piece of information and replied, "Well, Jae, I guess he kinda did climb the beanstalk up to heaven." And with that, he ran off to play Spiderman-Football-Basketball-Gymnastics, calling out for me to join him.

Ah, the insights of children are entertaining, to say the least, and this little guy sure does make me laugh.

They're Just People...

2010-12-13T23:27:00.000-08:00

When I get wrapped up in the world of a movie or television show, particularly ones set in another time period, there can be a certain amount of mental energy spent on the actors playing the characters. I'm not alone, as I can see that there are many much more obsessed than I am. That's why sites like IMDB exist and message boards.

Lately, I've been watching this show called, Lark Rise to Candleford, a BBC series set in the late 1800's in rural England. My friends would point out that this is not unusual to watch something from the BBC or set in the 1800's. But, I write this because it was the other day, while looking up some of the actors on imdb.com, that I had to stop myself and realize, these people are not their characters.

They text message and listen to Black Eyed Peas or Eminem or Coldplay songs on the radio whether they want to or not. They've tried a Kinderegg before and know what a Wonka Bar is. Maybe they even go on IMDB to look up actors in some show that they are watching to find out such trivial facts as what kind of popsicle they like or where they went to grade school. They sign petitions for Darfur Now! and all those women on the show- they vote. Perhaps, they even get caught up in the Harry Potter phenomenon. Maybe they play soccer. Maybe they skydive and travel to Indonesia to backpack. Maybe they watch Top Gear or Lost and maybe they smoke marijuana. Maybe they study nuclear physics in their spare time or do day trading to make extra money. Maybe! I don't know! Does it really matter!!!!!!!!!!

No. So, why can't I seem to stop myself. At least, tonight I jumped on the net for 5 minutes only after having worked a 9 hour day, volunteered at the group home making Gingerbread houses, pureed all my squashes and persimmons for cooking purposes, washed my dishes, run for 30 minutes in the summery LA evening, and cleaned up for bed. Now, I write this post- for what compelling reason.

For no other reason than to say to myself- "They're just people who for a living pretend to be other people."

Parties With Boys

2010-11-06T15:57:00.001-07:00

5^th Grade. We’re not quite adolescents. Not quite children. Boys like girls. Girls like boys. But, they’d been doing that since we were in the first grade together. Setting each other up. Melissa thinks Jeff is cute. We never knew what the boys thought.

5^th Grade at Catholic school. Not a sister-run one. Everyone at the school was considered “lay” leaders. Our town didn’t seem to attract the people of the cloth so much. We were kind of in the boonies those days. But, we did have the same classmates from Kindergarten until the end (6^th for me, 8^th for others).

Same 28-30 classmates every year. By 5^th grade, we were down to 22 or 23. There was Kevin with asthma, Brooks with Tourettes, Rachel who played alone, Kelly who I thought was mean, and Eric who ate paste in Kindergarten and so many more.

And, there was Scott Hall. Scott had come to our class in the 4^th grade. He was cool. The girls all liked him and had secret crushes on him (but not me or so I liked to tell myself, I was too tall for him). And, this year, for his birthday he decided to have a party with the whole class.

Our first girl/boy party. Ever.

Melissa and Jeff went behind the shed to kiss then we all peeked. We played games and ate and I don’t really remember much else, except I was shy and didn’t talk much (per the usual). The final part of the evening was to watch this movie called, “Robocop”. I’d heard of it but didn’t know what it was. Mom and dad weren’t huge sticklers on what we could and could not see. For heaven’s sake, they let me watch Cujo when I was 7. Cold sweats and everything but I refused to go to sleep.

So, we watch the movie in the basement of this old post-war home in Richland. My seat is on the stairs in the opening between the ceiling and stair. Like I said, I was shy. I rarely spoke. I was nervous to sit next to boys maybe too.

We’re watching and we get to this one scene (who knows what that was today) and in a burst of movie-watching intensity, I yell out, “Yeah! Now kill the other bast—r---r--….Oops!” Everyone turned around to look at me and laughed. What had just come out of her mouth? The shy, nervous, good girl, who never spoke and never got in trouble. Did she almost say what we think she said?

Needless to say, until the end of sixth grade when I finally left CK to go to the public junior high, my classmates teased me in a good-natured way of course.

How Can You Buy or Sell the Sky?

2010-10-11T22:59:00.000-07:00

The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes buy our land * How can you buy or sell the sky? * The warmth of the land * The idea is strange to us * Yet we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water * How can you buy them from us? * Every part of this earth is sacred to my people.

This is taken from a letter from Chief Seattle to President Franklin Pierce in 1855

"Yet we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water."

Every part of this earth is sacred (period).

Why is it so easy to forget this when I wake up too late and drive my car three blocks for a meeting?
When I buy a McDonalds Iced Coffee with its plastic cup and lid and straw?
When my demand for stories in any version drives me to buy, buy, buy?
When I take the plastic bag at the grocery store because I don't want to carry the stuff?
When I use the drive-up ATM at the bank?

All of this I willingly choose and all of this was invented to make life easier for us for consumption. But, what if we took time to consider the bigness of what we live amongst, the sheer magnitude of what was not created by our human minds or hands and what is being destroyed so that what man has made can be erected in its place.

So next time you consume, try taking the time to "consider the cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around the pond at night" and whether you can hear them.

I Don't Care What Reese Witherspoon Is Wearing

2010-09-22T22:58:00.000-07:00

With a click of my mouse, I can find out what Reese Witherspoon bought at Starbucks on Tuesday and whether or not her son wants to go to church with mom.

I wouldn't if I knew there'd be pictures of me on a Sunday morning when I'm 8.

It's a bit ridiculous. Yet, I admit I look. The "US" magazine here, the "Pop Sugar" photo gallery there. I care. If I didn't care I wouldn't know about things like Pop Sugar and Perez Hilton and http://www.gawker.com/. Not all the time mind you. Most of the time, it's perusing the likes of IMDB.COM for what movies so and so has been in and what piece of trivia there might be.

Does Gerard Butler like to eat bananas? Sometimes, I want to know.

While my id and ego or whatever do battle over this hobby that seems to suck my time, my unconscious decided to tell a story of its own. This was a dream I had two years ago:

I am at Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe's house in the Hollywood Hills (the dream house folks) and it strangely looks like a friend's house from the 5th grade from Washington State. It's kinda suburban and not what I'd expect but I and two other people (strangers in life-friends in the dream) are there and we are somehow friends with Ms. Witherspoon herself. She is taking us to the premiere of her new movie, "Walk the Line", at what looks like an altered version of the Hollywood Bowl. Upon arriving at the event, we are given yellow terry cloth robes (the soft kind of terry cloth) with the title of the film embroidered on the backs. We make our way in to the seating area and arrive at a set of bleachers and greet a young man in a wheelchair (a stranger to all of us). I am chatting with him when my two friends and Reese head off and tell me to stay with him. Bummed. That's how I feel. I mean I have to hang with this disabled kid instead of getting to meet exciting people and hang with Reese. And, end dream. Wake up.

What I am left with besides a strong set of imagery is this conviction that it is more important to spend time with those in need and care for them than to go for the glitz of celebrity and be sidetracked by that.

Can I say that today there is no clicking on of pictures of Jennifer Garner walking or Milo Ventimiglia smiling? No, that would be a lie but that conviction continues to stay with me, biting my heels, reminding me of what is important and lasting.

What will satisfy my soul to the deepest and what will make for a real, vital, beating-of-the-heart connection with another human being. I mean isn't that what we are all longing for anyways? The connection to others. To feel connected. To feel as if we know others and be known ourselves.

Ojai Oh!

2010-08-22T16:15:00.000-07:00

So, the other night I am sleeping and I have this dream- not unusual. However, in the dream, I am leaving what is the Tahoe area and entering a valley. The people I am with tell me that it is called Yucca Valley and it looks exactly like this photograph only with windmills, little ones.

Upon wake up, I have this huge desire to go to Ojai yesterday morning and then remember Yucca Valley. The photographs from Google show only a desert community with yucca plants everywhere on the outskirts of Joshua Tree.

Now, it sets me to wonder, do I want to go to Yucca Valley or Ojai? Both places in So Cal that I've never seen.

Then, this morning, I head to Sierra Madre for some coffee at Beantown and time on the park bench thinking and reflecting and decide to head to the hills by driving up to one of the nature trails at the city park in the foothills. Reading the sign incorrectly, I take the trail that heads steeply uphill for what feels like forever finally almost passing out from no water and too much heat (1:30 pm!) when there was another human (at last!) who told me the waterfall was on the lower trail not this one (makes sense now!).

After coming back down to step in to my car with the AC on, I had a moment of reflection. Whatever path I chose, right or wrong if you will, God is with me on that path. I cooled down, got some water, ate some food, and set to relaxing. Now, it's 4:30 and I'm getting ready for church and still smitten by this knowledge that it's OK whatever path I take.

Let's see what I decide for my personal retreat tomorrow - Will it be Ojai or will it be Yucca Valley? If only the latter looked like the picture above- hmmm, I think I know where I'm going :)

Dreams....

2010-08-05T15:08:00.000-07:00

4/20/09

Dreams about Algeria?

So, about two months ago, I had this dream one night where I was flying over a lake and landed in a store that was supposedly in Algeria. That was huge, the knowledge that it was Algeria and then I’m looking at a map and Algeria is located on this map wedged between Pennsylvania and Ohio.

The next day I went to the library and picked up this book which I have really yet to read about the war in Algeria.

Flash to this weekend – Saturday night – I have this dream where I am in a town with old buildings, well-manicured area and I am in one in particular and through the dream it’s clear that I am in Algeria. For part of it, Cyndi is there with me and then she is not.

So, I did some research and weird connections again- let me know why these connections keep appearing.

• The movie I watched yesterday afternoon was La Vie En Rose and in doing research on Edith Piaf, I found she was half Algerian.
• The buildings looked strangely like the pics of Hanoi, Vietnam, a place torn apart after French colonial rule by a crazy war. I was researching Hanoi before I fell asleep because I had been impressed upon for a few days that maybe I would go to Vietnam for missions work (closed country, communist/Buddhist, torn apart by war, hostile, unreached in many ways, particularly the north, the capital of the country)
• When I’d looked at Saigon, it seemed very poor and broken down so I thought Hanoi would be too but the pictures and description made it appear to be quite upscale and nice, like in my dream where I’m in Algeria!
• I googled slums in Algeria thinking about Servant Partners, missions, etcetera and just plain wondering….and this article stood out to me from the NYU school of journalism, a review of the book Planet of Slums by Mike Davis, and there is a line on the Yahoo! Blurb stating “…just like in Algeria and Vietnam”. There is another link to the two of them.

It's Been A While....

2010-07-06T23:50:00.001-07:00

GOOD Magazine has these semi-regular submission contests for doodles, infographics, photographs, etc., and I got inspired to hone my old design-abstract thinking skills by creating my own.

Here it is! The theme was: Finding Solitude in the City. I am going to say little else so as to have purveyors of this image take it on their own terms.

Right now I am thinking about Architecture 470: Literature and the Public Sphere. A class I took in an attempt to get my minor in Architecture. I often think of this class- it rocked my way of thinking. The premise was that place and the public space became characters and as much a part of the story as the people.

How do you get from Point A to Point B in the shortest time?

2010-05-05T00:52:00.000-07:00

The path between jumping from the plane and having that parachute open is both thrilling and fear-inducing. It is what stops me from wanting to try sky-diving. For at Point A, you are in the security of the plane. By the time you are at Point B, you are again mostly made secure by the parachute slowing down your free fall to the earth below. Though both aren't that secure in the scheme of things, they are vastly more safe than the free fall that gets you from Point A to Point B.

It is the feeling of panic that wells up inside of me even as I write this entry that stops me from making that jump. So, the question is, is if that is the only way down- to jump from that plane, trusting that everything works according to plan- can I overcome this fear of jumping? Can I "Just Do It"? Or, like those t-shirts all my high school classmates wore, "No Fear", can I really, truly "Not Fear"? I'll probably be afraid no matter what but at some point, I will just have to jump.

A New Leaf is a New Leaf....

2010-04-29T22:43:00.000-07:00

A = A

Two posts ago, I stated that I had found an algebraic equation that summed up the current problem I was facing that influenced my thoughts and actions daily. The equation:

If A = B, B = C, C = D, then A = D OR

If Being Myself = Mom Getting Stressed, Sad, Angry,
and Mom Getting Stressed, Sad, Angry = Mom Drinking to Quell the Feelings
and Momm Drinking to Quell the Feelings = Mom Dying from Drinking too Much

Then Being Myself = Mom Dying from Drinking too Much OR

Being Myself = Mom Dying

I know my algebra. I got the principle down. THis makes sense mathematically speaking.

But, it's not true. Not in real life anyway.

No, the Reflective Property Equation of: A = A

Being Myself = Being Myself

This is true. This is real.

I am happy ;)

My Friend Is Sick....

2010-04-14T00:24:00.000-07:00

My friend is sick. Dying young. From the same thing my Grandma Jean died from in 79. And, the vena cava of emotional history is being tweaked each day. I am afraid that it hurts my heart too much.

My mother
My sister
The boys at work
The kids at the club
Jen and her family

These are people amongst many I feel responsible for when things do not go as planned. When choices are made that are unwise. When I don’t know how to be and fear that I am doing the wrong thing or being the wrong person. With helping others being such a need for me, the need to belong and feel helpful, useful, it is hard when…

I feel helpless.

Waves keep crashing over me. First wave- I can’t sit here. Second wave- I should do something. Again- I should do something. Next wave- you are not doing enough. They come faster and stronger, knocking my feet out from under me. What are you doing in your pj’s? Why aren’t you leaving your house? Are you afraid? You know what fear is? Fear God alone is the only acceptable fear. Your fear. Your indecision. Not acceptable.

But, then why don’t I know what to do and why is it that I feel prevented from choosing to do something. I am held back. She said, “No, don’t come. I had a bad night.” But, then, I tell her, of course only in thought, “Jen, you can’t get up and help Becky. You can’t stand on your foot. I’ll come.”

When do we act and when do we accept that we are helpless? I can’t discern. My mind is racing with 50 billion actions to take. Seriously. All bungled up, confused with the accusations that I hear that I haven’t chosen well, and I am not helping enough. Then there is the guilt, you weren’t there for her this day or this day or that day.

You weren’t there for her. Just like I wasn’t there for my mom. Just like I haven’t been “there” for my sister. Or Jaedyn. Or my dad and Karen. Or the kids who run away from the group home. Or, Yesenia. Or, even that roommate Yazmin from my last year in Lincoln Heights.

My inaction. My inability to say, step, do something, anything. That frozenness. That hands-tied, mouth-tied feeling is what holds the handle of the whip that cracks at my back when I am alone and tired of it all. Crack. You aren’t doing it right. Crack. You are supposed to love. What does love look like? Certainly not like what you are doing. Not sitting in your pj’s watching BBC melodramas based on 19th century novels. What good is there in that? Nothing. Get off your ass BJ and do what Jesus asked you to do in Matthew 25. Nowhere in Matthew does he say watch TV on your computer. Watch movies and television shows.

Crack. But, BJ is not erecting herself and roaring. Alright. I’ll get up and do something. No. instead BJ is cowering in pain, blood falling down and remaining exactly where she is.

Jesus but you were whipped. The cracks hit you. Crack. Why don’t you save yourself King of the Jews? Crack. If you are the Messiah, why don’t you stop all this? Crack.

Jesus wasn’t supposed to come defeated and helpless. Jesus wasn’t supposed to die like that. All mopey and broken and hurt and under the hand of a lesser man. One who sinned, who didn’t give a rat’s ass about God. No. Jesus was supposed to take his finger and wipe out all the evildoers and leave all the good ones standing. Jesus was supposed to be victorious. Jesus was supposed to be the giant on the throne squashing all those too lowly to remain alive. That is a Messiah. A Messiah vanquishes. He is Superman and there is no kryptonite that will defeat him. A Messiah is Manny Pacquiao in the fifth round. He gets the victory lap. He is a vigorous male, full of masculine might and flair. He is not a weak-sauce man taking the licks from the end of a leather whip with such beaten-down hang-dog looks.

What good is there in a Messiah who just allows the evil to have the upper hand? Right?

But, it’s not until darkness falls on the land, after the beatings, the hanging on that cross, the last breath has been breathed, his body removed and placed in a tomb and three days rise and three days fall. No it’s not until this time that Jesus finally resurfaces, revealing that He is not dead. He is still with those who knew him in life. This waiting period is death. No it is in what unfolds through the rest of time. Time immeasurable. That event was so long ago yet not that long ago at all.

The victory is that though the Messiah took the whippings from evil men who didn’t love God and allowed death to come at their hands without lifting one finger against them to wipe them out, He never left. He was still there. No longer in earthly human body shape but He was still with the believers. He was there, in disguise if you will. The victory is that those men when they breathed their last breath, died in human form and in spirit form and Jesus died only in the body and not in the spirit. The spirit never left.

This is where we pin our hopes. Am I ready to believe this and live in this? Am I ready for this to transform me and shape me? Yes and no. I want to but I resist.

Or maybe this is actually the answer...

2010-04-10T11:58:00.001-07:00

Or, what if it was through all those "scares" as a child. Or, in those moments when she couldn't conceive a child. That she cried out to you in her heart, in her own way, and gave me to you.

She, like Abraham did with Isaac, gave me up to you in all those word-spoken and voiceless prayers.

Perhaps, that is what has taken place.

Remove the "I killed her", "I'm not good enough", "I'm too much", "I'm that girl" kind of thinking.

Replace it with "I did not kill her, her choice to drink until her body gave out on her is what killed her.", "I am me and I am as good as I can be today.", "I'm just enough and God is the rest", "I am that girl." kind of thinking.

All this because my mother cried out to you and you heard her and so I am who I am and believe what I believe so earnestly yet so broken and weakly that this is what I can own.

Take those unbeliefs of not good enough and except the beliefs of just as I am is OK for today.

TV Antennas, BBQ Sauce, and Pac-Man Games

2010-03-23T20:44:00.000-07:00

I am 12. I am scared. I am me. What is me after all? A long run-on sentence with an exclamation point at the end. A neon green hair scrunchy with a wad of hair attached like it's a life raft and it just left the Titanic. My heart is crushing at this proposal. Be yourself.

But, what if being myself is what killed my mother? Being myself = breaking left collarbone ice skating on the patio with sprinklerhead to cushion the blow + baby born with heart murmur five two years after being told they can't have kids + two-year-old swallows bottle caps only to scratch intestinal lining to point of forced constipation (-several months of enemas and a train ride across the country for my grandma's funeral, problem resolved) + two-year-old climbs TV antenna-jumps in pool-walks to neighbors-all-while-parents-aren't-watching. Being myself=refusing to go to school because of tummyaches that were the result of stress. Being myself meant, "She got angry and sad and depressed and then she started drinking because she couldn't handle me being me." So, if A = B and B = C then A = C, so my being myself made her drink.

It's easier that way. So, now comes the game of, "Let's figure out how to perform to please mom so she doesn't get sad or mad and then drink." Again though, the result is that I am just a lousy game player and obviously not trying hard enough, right? Right!

Try harder. Still no success. Give up and do what you want. Say what you want to do. Try your best. After all, that's the other message that you keep hearing. Do your best. That's even worse. Now, she doesn't even care. Or worse, she cares then doesn't care then cares then doesn't care all the while drinking and yelling and rambling and sobbing and drinking some more. I am tethered too just as the Moon made of cheese is tethered to this planet and the two duly influence one another. She is my Moon and I am her Earth. Her passings pull my tides.

Game Over. The red ghost ate the third Pac-Man. No more lives to live in this game. Back to 0. Here I am now, obvious 18 year old BJ on the outside; graduating high school, going to college, driving a car, voting in elections, not buying cigarettes though I could. But, I am 12 year old BJ at that slumber party. I am 7 year old BJ at the top of those stairs on a Thursday night huddled with her siblings trying to stifle the yell that is rearing it's head at that very moment. I am 3 year old BJ painting her mom's good couch with Kris n Pitts BBQ sauce, why?- "Because I'm a painter." I am 1 year old BJ in a stroller screaming with glee as I see all the people with a humongous grin being pushed by a 31-year-old Sherry who keeps trying to shhsshhh because people are staring thinking something is wrong.

Something was always wrong. And, like some of those questions on my history exams, I could never get the answer right. A super=hard Mensa puzzle that I guess I wasn't brilliant enough to solve. That Math Contest puzzler that I was off by one number on and that my brother won that year. Things always came easier to him.

Why couldn't I figure it out? Why couldn't I figure out that I was supposed to turn left when I saw the red ghost coming so I could pick up the bunch of cherries? Why did I turn right instead and lose that third life? it's just a game though.

so, now I am 33 year old BJ. Same age as she was when she lost her own mom. Same age as she was when her daughter was painting couches and climbing TV antennas. Same age as she was when the Dr. Lilli told her that her daughter might need surgery if things didn't resolve with the intestines. Same age as she was when she had two children and one more on the way and had to give her oldest enemas and orange popsicles. Untethered- the moon is still pulling the covers off my oceans but from farther away.

The question is will I run and hide behind that girl in the picture with clear skin, colored eyes, thin frame, and softball jerseys from some local business or will I do the work to remain here, the girl in the mirror with clear skin, colored eyes, slightly large but normal frame, and thrift store work clothes. And, can I see it for myself and have it reside there in my heart.

If Preschoolers Voted on the Oscars....

2010-02-21T19:45:00.000-08:00

...then the movie, "Santa Buddies", just might have made 2010's list of nominees.

This, of course, is based solely on how a certain 5-year-old nephew ecstatically chattered on, in his little voice, about the movie he was going to watch with his dad that night.

The movie, entitled, "Santa Buddies: The Legend of Santa Paws" is from the creative mind behind such hits as "Air Bud: Golden Receiver" and "Snow Buddies", Kevin DiCicco.

Here is a sampling of the bada-boom dialogue taken (without permission of course) from the IMDB website:

Mudbud: Is it my imagination, or is Budderball running with an elf?

Rosebud: It's an elf, alright.
B-Dawg: Where does he find these dogs? The looney bin?

This led me to wonder what would happen if 5-year-olds were the Academy Members and responsible for nominating the movies up for a Golden Oscar statuette this year. Certainly not "The Hurt Locker" or "A Single Man". And, definitely not, "An Education" with the title alone and forget about, "Inglourious Basterds". Bo-ring!!!

I'd say "Avatar" might be on there but the nephew exclaimed he didn't want to see it when his mom and I were chatting. Too long.

"Up" would probably still be there. "Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs" too. But, "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel", "The Princess and the Frog", "Monsters vs. Aliens", and "G-Force" might be there. Particularly this last little gem. J was raving about that one for five minutes..."Ahhh man, they're so funny!". The latest "Hannah Montana" might be on there too though J would not have voted on that one.

All in all I will end with this. Whether it's those unknown adult Academy members voting or a group of preschoolers, I still have seen about 5% of the movies nominated and will still root for the ones I did see as an informed voter is more judicious than a manipulated voter any day!

Leavenworth

2010-02-06T13:39:00.000-08:00

10 years old. Double-digits birthday. October 1986. We'd already gone once or twice to the tourist town pictured to the left. The town of Leavenworth, Washington. ABout 2 hours northwest of where I grew up, just outside of Wenatchee (the heart of apple country) in the Cascade Mountains. Leavenworth is a replica of an alpine village and every Christmas they decorate the entire town with lights (as you see in the picture).

This place, by far, was my favorite place to go and in thinking back still is. Though now as an adult, I could probably go to an actual alpine village and be amazed too. We stayed at some place called the Edelweiss Inn and there was a person whose job it was to blow that horn that the Ricola guy blows in the commercials. We ate well and my parents bought me a build-your-own dollhouse that by the time I was 18 was note done (8 years later and still not all the way done!).
We were really in to some game we had made up called "Card Sharks" based off the TV show. Mom bought her Christmas ornaments as she always did there. We tried Swiss food whatever that was. We went hiking with our dog. I loved that trip for my tenth birthday. I loved it because my family was together and having fun. We always had fun on trips.

In fact, my love for this place was so deep that I wrote in my diary that year, that my sister (3 years younger than me) and I would live here as adults together in a chalet house with our dogs eating macaroni and cheese every day. This memory recently came back to me and makes me smile, actually makes me giggle at my ten-year-old self.

Today I no longer live anywhere near Leavenworth and haven't been there in over 15 years. My sister is now married and living in Rhode Island; she owns dogs and I do not. It is this sister, Julie, who I will fly out to see next weekend for a week long vacation. I will see her life there, play with her son, my nephew, Jaedyn, do some sightseeing and just be in the same place as her for a bit of time. And, most likely, we will eat some macaroni and cheese, maybe more than once. And it is for this that I am thankful. My brother is funding the journey so I can be there with her and I am thankful for his generosity and love. I hope it is enjoyable. I hope we have a girls night out. I hope we play some "Card Sharks" if we can remember the rules.

iTunes Top 10 for January 2010

2010-01-20T19:58:00.000-08:00

Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other.... by Of Montreal
You Were On My Mind by We Five
Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man by Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn
From the Inside Out by Hillsong
Sni Bong by Dengue Fever
Eternal Flame by The Bangles
Both Sides Now (Remastered) by Joni Mitchell
In a Sentimental Mood by John Coltrane
Grace Like Rain by Todd Agnew
A-Punk by Vampire Weekend

OK Top 11

Dancing Choose by TV on the Radio

Open Heart Surgery

2009-12-09T23:17:00.000-08:00

When a person is about to undergo heart surgery, that person is asked to prepare ahead of time in a number of ways. They have tests done, they fast the day before, they check into the hospital prior to the day of surgery, they pledge their love to someone or make some sort of sappy, sobbing-filled amends with a family member. All of this I have learned, of course, from watching episodes of "ER" and "Grey's Anatomy" (where many of the surgeries did not always unfold according to reality). Bottom line though is that they come in prepared for this kind of surgery. It's not like getting a wart removed by laser or a cavity filled. No, the entire process can take, on average, a little over a week, not including the doctor's visits leading up to the surgery and the healing time at home after the surgery.

During surgery, a person is given anesthesia in order to render them unconscious (slows down heartbeats and breathing, makes one less nervous). Then the surgery itself will take anywhere from 4 to 16 hours, give or take, depending on complexity of the surgery and complications that may arise. After the surgery is done, the person remains in the surgery room as they wait for the anesthesia to wear off and for the nurses to monitor the persons vitals. The person then spends up to four days in a Surgical ICU ward with constant monitoring in case more complications arise. Then, the wound is dressed for the person to be ready to leave, a consultation is had, and plans are made for follow up care. At this point, one will go home to recover.

The recovery period is critical because a person will now be at home and wanting to get on with their life but it as it this point that rest is important. Rest and routine checkups with the doctor to monitor any changes in the body and responses to the surgery by the body. The surgical wound will need redressing during this period too, with a nurse best equipped to remove the old and apply the new, ensuring that no bacteria enters the wound with access to the heart.

The entire process for one to be healed from a defect of the heart is a months-long ordeal and one that many people struggle with, particularly the recovery time as they will find themselves pushing too hard too soon and having to learn from the consequential experience (fatigue, heart beating too fast,etc.)

If one were to compare what happens in open heart surgery in a hospital to what God does in our hearts. We would see an uncanny set of parallels. We need to be prepared by God and follow the instructions given to us in order to be ready for the day of surgery. We need to meet with Him as he requests to do so, in order that we may know what is expected of us and what will take place without us knowing (as always the actual experience will differ for all of us each time).

During the surgical procedure, the good doctor will prepare us each step of the way to make sure our transition from awake to unconscious is a smooth one. There was a time when I was 10 or 11 and had a wart removed on my finger by laser at our local Physicians Immediate Care Center- the laser could still be felt and in one instant I had screamed and kicked my shoe across the room slamming in to the metal cabinet. If this were to happen during heart surgery, who knows what would go flying.

The surgery will take place, removing that which is causing problems for our heart to function at optimum health and replacing it or fixing it so that it does function optimally. We will be put on machines to support the functions of our heart so that there is no disruption in our body systems.

The recovery process starts with the waking up time, not only our mind waking up from the anesthesia but our body, including our heart. We will transition from that to round-the-clock care to monitor our recovery then on to a regular hospital room for regular care but not as critical to going home for the remainder of that time. It is at this point that we can push too hard, too fast. Especially those of us with independent streaks wider than the white on a skunk's tail. We learn the hard way that we are to just sit or lay and eat well and take care of our bodies for whole days to make sure we heal well and don't relapse. Our wounds will need to be cleaned up and redressed regularly to prevent infection.

At the end of this months-long process, our hearts are like new again. Some of us will hear the siren call of our former habits and return to them and others will forge a new lifestyle to coincide with our new hearts, nutritionally and physically. Either way, we will have endured a long arduous journey to healing and health. May all of us submit to this kind of surgery and healing and truly learn to recover well. To just sit like the branch who abides in the vine, just sitting there attached, knowing no other action to take but to remain there.

Place, Once Again

2009-12-01T00:22:00.000-08:00

Yup, same place. Again.
though my nails are brown
my skin red
my heart worn
-the wall in front of me-
it's the same. As before.

Curled up at the end of here
is one of those...
useless symbols
the mark for a q
with a dot below

a lovely gift for the
maid to find
wondering why you couldn't
make the next five feet
where it could safely land
where it goes

With no tools, no plastic bag
I leave it
whatever really
the wall around me is still too high
and flat
and my shoes suck
no traction.

I could stand.
I can always stand but my back hurts.
It always hurts. When I stand.

Quote of the Day

2009-11-16T21:40:00.001-08:00

"There is no less holiness at this time--as you are reading this--than there was the day the Red Sea parted.... In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet may rise, or you may see a bunch of souls in a tree. In any instant you may avail yourself of the power to love your enemies; to accept failure, slander, or the grief of loss; or to endure torture. Purity's time is always now." -Annie Dillard

Death at Work....

2009-11-04T17:51:00.001-08:00

This is not going to be an essay about how death is a laborer 24-7.

No, this post is about the death of a co-worker, a tribute to her memory.

You were here last week. I saw your face, looked in the candy bowl, passed on the Almond Joys you had. You told me the pastry on your desk was old. No good. I remember your face. You were always hard at work on your computer. Always.

The Gala was a huge success. Your best auction yet and in a down economy no less. There was some worry about whether you'd have enough hands to help you out that night but you did. I'm glad I said "No" and stayed there, though wavered by not wanting you to be put out, stressed out.

I'm glad you got to see your children and grandchildren on Halloween and head safely home to your bed Saturday night and glad that your last breath was drawn while you laid there, awake or asleep, I don't know, but you were at rest.

Your body hurt and was getting worse every week but still you showed up every day like clockwork. That's why they were so surprised when you didn't call, didn't write. It's not like her they said.

May you be at peace now and thank you for all your hard work and the model of giving until the end that you were. You never slacked. You were tough as nails and you chose to work because you wanted to do so not because you had to.

You will be missed and it is sad to walk passed your office and see the photo that someone placed there of you, knowing that you will no longer be there across from the copy machine. God bless and shalom!

Why I Write - A Meditation

2009-10-24T13:48:00.000-07:00

There are stories that run like tapes through my mind and heart. If a story, and its characters, continue to return to me, in obvious moments as well as in unnatural moments, then it is necessary for me to get them out and on to paper somewhere or into Word.

Over time, a learned trait has been to give myself more and more unpinched freedom to ruminate and take my time, alternating between the stories as I think of new directions for them to take. The harsher I am, the more rigid and task-oriented I get, the less likely I am to hear those characters speak and follow where they lead.

Flannery O'Connnor is one of the writers who I admire. She was a devout Catholic and wrote a few key short stories over the years. In response to critics who believed her faith limited her ability to write or say something interesting for a modern audience, she shared this observation:

"Christian dogma", she insisted, "frees the storyteller to observe. It is not a set of rules which fixes what he sees in the world. It affects his writing primarily by guaranteeing his respect for mystery"

She also responded by sharing that a belief that the only element to this world is the natural one was what limited people in their writing, but a Christian who believes in the supernatural could open new doors. She was responding to the literate, intelligent readers of highly industrialized countries where the supernatural has been paved over like thousands of burial grounds over the years have.

I write because my heart wants to communicate to others and sometimes I can't do that in the moment verbally but over time, things get formulated. My heart would like to point people to the vastness of the universe and maybe pierce a hardened heart or two with a knowledge that it is way to vast for us to figure out so there will always be an edge of mystery to our lives.

One Day It's Cold, The Next It's Hot...

2009-10-16T21:55:00.000-07:00

The weather is one of the main reasons I have chosen to stay in sunny SoCal. 72 degrees and sunny most of the year is fine by me, even if we are in a drought and restricted in our water useage.

Especially a day like today, when the rains have just fallen, and the sky is a clear, distinct blue; the sun is loud, beautiful shade of yellow, emitting it's rays with extreme force; and the mountains that rise above my house are crystal-clear, you can make out every crevice in its face. Now, you can see the bald patches where the Station Fire hit several weeks ago.

These are the days when I love LA and my current 'hood of Pasadena!

Same Age As Me

2009-09-07T14:38:00.000-07:00

I saw your picture
behind the glass
you wore a shirt
like one I had
when I was 5.

For just one moment
I saw my eyes
reflecting yours
when you were five?
and I was 3.

Though you had no name
You had that shirt
and those bright eyes
with a date from
the year I was 3...

We went, walked away
time passing on
you, same forever
me, three more years
Now I'm thirty-three.

I did forget you
until this day
your eyes I see
your shirt with it
and you're still three.

James Again and Other Reflections From the Day

2009-08-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

James was walking with his cart at Vroman's again this morning. I asked if he remembered me (forgetting he was blind) and he said no but remembered my name. On the walk back he told me, "only ?? more cents for an iced coffee...." but somehow today I did not feel so compelled to get him one. Perhaps, it was because I already had my coffee for the day and was reading a bit before heading home.

While reading and sitting there, I ruminated on the topic of: Systemic Injustice.

Yes. Systemic Injustice. Those injustices that are at the hands of human systems.

Particularly in the field of education. It seems like lately, not only do I have the words of many an urban teenage boy in my head but I went to play on Friday where one of the characters a teenager brings this up. "Education is for white people." But, the other day, this thought arose:

"It can seem like it's a white person thing but only because of racism and classism (which was in a way racism) which prevented anyone not-white from getting an education. It's an access thing. If more people were educated from all walks of life then we'd collectively see it is for all people. Plus, to say it's a white person thing implies that somehow physically only white people can be educated but that's simply not true (though early 20th century pedagogy immersed itself in the eugenics belief that brains of people of different races, particulary those of African heritage were somehow smaller and therefore less capable)."

The only way to stop a cycle from continuing on as is. The only way to stop bad stereotypes from being reinforced is for people to buck trends by encouraging different ways and going different ways.

Finally, a thought about the p.c. culture or politically correct culture out there. This is a system created for our culture as a way to help racist people to stop being racist (in a way). But, in the end reinforces what it is meant to prevent.

But, the only solution is to not create alternative stereotypes, blanket statement critiques/categories to refer to, and ways of addressing/describing a group of people by a set characteristic.

We have to relate to people one-on-one and as individuals, not by the groups they might identify with (particularly because so many of us fit into multiple groups). We have to stop copping out/wussing out from doing the hard work of relating to people and getting to know them and their stories and in addition facing the potential of messing up and hurting them/embarrassing yourself. We have to be willing to fail in terms of knowing a person not labelling a people.

Finally, going back to the idea that only white people get educations. Not all do. Some do. But, it's changing all the time and there are many educated people who are not selling out by pursuing something where they are the perceived minority based on history/set of identifying characteristics/formulated cultural thoughts.

Si se puede!

James and the Iced Coffee

2009-07-26T14:11:00.000-07:00

I hate being convicted after the fact of something (yes, I mean hate). It's like what good is it now- the chance is over.

Prime Example

It's Sunday. The day I go on walks in the neighborhood for coffee, to stay away from TV and computers, to journal, read and contemplate. I am on this walk to the cafe, Sabor 2, when I meet a gentleman named, James.

James with a shopping cart. James who asks for coins.

I don't have coins but I do happen to have a roasted veggie lavash wrap in my purse. Weird I know but the plan was to eat lunch on the walk back at Fuller Seminary in their lovely garden area. So, I hand it to him. It's food. He stated he was hungry.

Then, his words indicate that he thinks I am more than friendly. He asks if I'd make dinner for him. I tell him about the dinner at my church on Sunday nights. He asks if I'll serve there. I tell him no. He asks if he'll see me there. Maybe. Maybe we'll cross paths. And, I begin walking again away from James. Sidetracked by a magazine for a few seconds. I start walking again and lo and behold there's James again on my path (see we did cross paths).

He asks if I'm going to Target. I say no, to the cafe over there. He puts an order for an iced coffee in with LOTS of cream and sugar. And, in this moment, I comply. Alright. He asks if I'm married. Yes. I am married at this moment, for this man I am. It works.

About five minutes later, after careful contemplation about the kind of sugar, the amount of it, will it hurt him or help him, stir to melt the sugar crystals, I hand the drink to him. Mine being on the table inside with the pastry (there's AC inside and it's been hot since 6am today). We chat. More questions. Where you from? Will you go back? Will you stay in Pasadena for awhile? I connect with him over Cleveland and Akron (the Goodyear plant, Yes!). He tells me I'm beautiful, which is of course after he tells me that he needs me to put the cream and sugar in his coffee because he's legally blind :) (It must be my soul, that place which emanates kindness against our will sometimes, that he calls beautiful...................................)

It's now that I go back inside. Now that I return to my plans. My coffee and morning pastry (which I craved upon wakeup at 8). Now, that he finally gets up, as I can plainly see from my chair inside) and walks off with his cart.

And, it's now that I feel convicted. He's gone and I'm convicted.
"What more do you want from me?"
"Look what I did for him. Coffee. My lunch. Some conversation."

The feeling comes over still, a sheet that blocks out the pat-on-the-back-good-enough feelings that is the cold air in the bedroom at night.

"You know what he needs even if he doesn't say it. He wants your time. All those things
Jesus told THE RICH YOUNG MAN to do require time. But, BJ, you know that you
can't perfect this. There is no 100%. No good enough. You can always do more. But, I
know how you are wired and that you will hear this and spiral down and negate what
you did do, it's the baby in the bath water moment. So, take this in. Time and
relationship and human contact and smiles and friendship. That's what we all want. To
be known, remembered, liked, smiled at, talked to, approached by a stranger, welcomed.
It's what Jesus was talking about. It's not about the food, the coffee, giving him what he
asks for. It's stopping what I am doing to interact with another human being. For, guess
what, it's never enough. It's never good enough. It just is. What you chose and what
you were capable of giving in that moment and the more you are opened up to it the
more you will be capable of giving and the more you will impact another person's life
(which you did do-you impacted his life more than you will know)."

This is the voice speaking to me while I write and sip coffee and eat the Pain au Chocolat. And, finally, though I am convicted, I am OK again, in right balance with it all again.

Sensational Faith

2009-07-16T18:55:00.000-07:00

Clicked on the headline just now about the bomb explosion in the hotel in Jakarta, Indonesia. I'm interested in the country and have a friend going their in a week's time so it's on my mind. As I am reading down through mostly facts, I get to this line that says, "I saw four bodies in the hotel. One had it's stomach blown out."

This got me thinking about how the news shapes how we think about things, particularly evil and the public sphere that we are not breathing in at the moment.

Perspectives on the World Christian Movement is a class offered every winter at my church. This year, was the opportunity to serve on the team leading the class which offered the opportunity to hear diverse speakers unlock the subject matter each week. For one of those weeks, the speaker was John Lewis from the San Diego area and he shared with us something that came back to mind while reading the above news article,

"Why are we so surprised by "the evil" that goes on around us every day?"

The story of the world told succinctly is this, "We are capable of doing great evil and we are capable of doing great good. The choice is ours to make and the ability to do it is endowed through faith."

Sensational Faith, as the title says, is that faith that is easily swayed by the world around us and the acts of others. It's the belief in God because Hell or others are so bad. It's the faith that causes one to read that news article and be angry at the bombers and want to bomb back. That's what the article wants us to feel.

The problem with this is not the feelings of anger that arise. The problem is that our succeeding actions are formed by those emotions and thoughts and not on God. God who can imbue us with the ability to think critically and face down the craziest of evil actions by another human being. This faith allows us not to be moved around by the winds or waves of culture, emotion, and surprise journalism but to be grounded in the reality of God and how He sees the world.

It's this faith I want to have!

Resistance Is Futile

2009-06-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

Or so, Darth Vader or someone said in a popular movie I can't remember now.

But, not always true. We resist all the time. Little magnets all over the place. Sometimes, we resist for good reasons like turning down the piece of cake at the work birthday party or not getting in that red van with the strange man in a parka in the summer. And sometimes, we resist for bad reasons, not going to Prom with that boy because he had Tourette's Syndrome and you felt weird about that or be Jonah-like and run into the mouth of a whale because we don't want to obey God's command to help people.

We say no to things that we ought and yes to things that we ought not to. On top of all this, we can say yes to some crazy act of obedience like getting on a plane and going to Cambodia for two months then getting really sick and still wanting to go back but then when the thing we are being asked to do is talk to that guy or girl who is homeless or who is superfashionable and cool or who looks unapproachable for any other reason, we turn in the opposite direction (like Jonah did, even if that direction is inward).

Do I really think I can run from God? There was a point when I wasn't so happy a few years back where I left work early, crawled into a ball on my bedroom floor and bawled for 30 minutes. In that moment, I wished I could go to the corner of my closet and burrow myself. But, I knew that no matter what, I wouldn't get far and I wouldn't get away nor find what I was searching for.

There is comfort in knowing that even though it felt super-bleak to me, God was still there, like He stayed with Jonah even inside the belly of the whale. There is comfort today though I admit there are days where that comfort turns to annoyance that God is still there (not proud). He remains though I turn away, resisting His love and care, afraid of Him and what He is asking of me.

Resistance Is Futile. You will assimilate.

These movie lines refer to robots chasing men (I think) but the hope is to realize that I am not assimilating but I am turning toward the one who can love and care for me the best. May it be so. May it be so.

Therein Lies the Problem...

2009-05-19T01:27:00.000-07:00

"With mortarboard in hand, Robert Kessler, 22, a graduating senior, wandered among the protesters and shook his head. “Some of these pictures are grotesque, and I don’t want them to be part of my graduation,” Mr. Kessler said. “If these groups wanted to make a difference, they could have better used their money on homes for unwed mothers.” - This paragraph was taken from an article titled, "At Notre Dame, Obama calls for civil tone in abortion debate" from the New York Times today. Here is the link: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/18/us/politics/18obama.html?_r=1&hp%20

It makes me think of the people who spend money advertising the horrors of hell to persuade people to become Christian. If you see how bad it is, then you'll want to go in the opposite direction. Which may work for some people or for a period of time? But, it's not lasting, especially when people hit major roadbumps in the road from that point on to the place that is not Hell.

The problem is this: Abortion wouldn't exist if humans in community lived blameless, communal, whole and healthy lives but it does and has existed.

The problem prompts the question: How shall we respond?

I think ten times more effective was that soft-spoken girl in the movie, Juno, last year telling her classmate that the baby insider her had fingernails. This one thought meekly yet passionately called out as Juno walks toward the clinic sticks with her and she soon hears the sounds of fingernails everywhere.

In all the hubbub this past week over Obama, very plainly I saw the problems with how our community of humans tries to answer the above question. Of course, there were many who were trying in peace, in faith, in love to respond and for the sake of my point, I won't mention them now but I recognize that they probably far outnumbered those who were not in love...

One seeks to yell as loud as possible, show grotesque photos, hold big signs, and tell the world that Obama is a baby killer and so on

The other, our President, representative of our government, seeks to be an ambassador of law making and justice in our land, doing so alienating a ton of people.

The thing is that we forget about all those women who were pregnant and yet choose the abortion. Why are they doing it? Are there enough resources out there to help them after the fact of getting knocked up?

Or, are those opposed to this idea, out there holding up gross pictures, yelling at people, and calling them "baby killers" expending all their energy in the world on overturning some law of the land.

This thing, this problem, all mixed up as it is now, will not be solved with laws one way or the other, and will not be solved by name calling, yelling, photographs worthy of a horror film. Because both of these don't ever help the person who is choosing the abortion or create communities where women don't get accidentally or forcefully impregnated for whatever the reason.

Gumby Girl....

2009-04-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

What was the name of Gumby's female counterpart? I could swear there was a girl on that show at some point....oh well.

That's who I want to be: Gumby Girl

Stretchable, flexible, tension doesn't sit inside but is pulled throughout my limbs and exits through the extremities-

Like through my hands when I put them to work

And through my feet when I am moving about

Through my head when I am using it to think

Sure, Gumby as a toy, would become idle in the toybox, unmoving, unstretchable, but when any of us pulled him out and interacted with the toy, he came to life and his legs were crossing over each other and he was doing back flips and forward flips....

I want to flip back and forth with the greatest of ease like that young lady on the flying trapeze.

Right now, I'm not so flexible and when tension arises (internal and absorbed or perceived from external sources), it sits in my heart, my belly, my knee currently, my head, my teeth. It just sits and so I just sit, like Gumby in the toybox....waiting for a human to interact with me and help me bend.

Inspiration for Being Creative....

2009-04-02T11:12:00.000-07:00

...from an unlikely source. When reading Stephen King's memoir, On Writing, he spoke about this band that he is a part of along with some other well-known authors. Then last week, at my writing group, my friend was talking about it. So, I googled it and here is some of what I found:

The Rock Bottom Remainders

Give it up, suspend your credibility for the Rock Bottom Remainders! Members of this notorious, mostly-author rock band have included Dave Barry, Tad Bartimus, Roy Blount, Jr., Michael Dorris, Robert Fulghum, Kathi Goldmark, Matt Groening, Stephen King, Barbara Kingsolver, Al Kooper, Greil Marcus, Ridley Pearson, Joel Selvin, and Amy Tan.

Barry has said, "We play music as well as Metallica writes novels."

I guess they usually play at writing and book selling conventions and special gigs but they were saying it's an outlet for them, "a way to do something they can't do in the ten hours in front of a word processor."

That said, it is time to reveal my secret dream, that was formulated over a year and a half ago. I want to start a band that does special gigs with friends where our tagline is:

"We're so bad, we're good!"

Dark Humor Alert: In fact, I got so excited in imagining my band and what instruments we'd play that I was thinking we should have a gong. Of course, this turned in to something different, a bong (it's a wind instrument you see). But, I think we won't use that one. I wouldn't know how it's played anyway.

Well, perhaps one day, this dream will come to fruition. To be an author and to be in a band...we got to have a gimmick though....

Why I Wont' Sit on Fiberglass, and Other Things I Learned the Hard Way

2009-03-26T16:50:00.000-07:00

Pink Panther used to sell this fluffy stuff-same color and everything. My family took a trip one day when I was about 8 to Ernst Hardware in the Safeway Plaza. We were shopping for I don’t know what but as kids, we loved to just go wherever mom and dad went, no matter what. We followed them like geese: Tall BJ, Middle Bob, Tiny Curly Haired Julie, to the home building supplies (pre-Home Depot folks).

There it was. Rolls of this stuff. Pink. Fluffy. With the Pink Panther’s picture boldly printed on the brown wrapping. It looked like cotton candy. Yum! As a curious child. As the eldest child. As the one who got away with leading until the others wised up. I sat first then the other two followed. Geese that strayed from the flock.

“Ouch!” “Ooh!” “Eek!” Jump up. Whimper. Embarrassingly try to protect our childlike bottoms from whatever was causing the pain. Mom and dad – down the aisle came up quickly on us, scolding of course. Geese that got away. We’re informed. “You didn’t sit on cotton candy. You sat on fiberglass. Using our words- cotton candy made of spun glass it was. That is what we sat on and that was what is pressed into our delicate butt cheeks – tiny pieces of glass.

Mom was so ticked off. I don’t remember dad much. I’d like to imagine, he was laughing but I think he just watched my mom be ticked and supported her. She made us sit on those delicate cheeks the whole ride home (all seven minutes of it). Her children whimpering and whining at the excruciating pain, ignoring us.

Then, she had us soak in Epsom salt baths to remove the glass shards. How it worked to this day I am still unsure of but soon we were all better. No more glass. No more whimpers. Butts were back to their normal sitting-comfortability.

From that day on, I still remember, “Do not sit on that stuff that looks like cotton candy- because it’s not!” Into the annals of memory that one goes, despite other analogous experiments that one would think your children would figure out not to try but do anyways because the urge to try is more powerful.

Polar Bear Insomnia

2009-02-25T10:31:00.000-08:00

"Antarctic glaciers rapidly slipping into ocean"

My heart beats rapidly, in time with the cracking of the ice on that glacier, and I think about those polar bears from the commercial with Noah Wyle (Oh no! they're going to fall in! Of course, Noah, I'll give money to your cause and not just because you're so cute!)

This is what keeps me up at night some days. Thoughts about those polar bears floating on small pieces of ice, trapped from food sources and family. How can I, who sits on my computer or in front of my TV in Los Angeles, do anything? I can't reach out my hand with superglue and attach that piece of ice back to the big slab it came from.

And, if I stop driving my car or flying airplanes or buying plastics, will the glaciers stop breaking? In the big scheme of things, the story of life that is, is it important? Does God really care about those polar bears? I mean, really, polar bears are one of the most violent animals on earth (despite how cute they look on my TV set).

So, my pulse quickens in the day and for a moment I am paralyzed by the whole idea of it. For me, the answers to the above questions go: 1) Of course it has to help somehow, 2) Yes, it is important, life and death important, and 3) God cares about every living, breathing creature He put on this planet regardless of their nature and resulting actions, at any given point in time while on earth.

The immensity of the thoughts sit with me and build and by the time I go to bed tonight, if I don't do something to ease it in the tween time, I will lie awake wondering. How can I reach my hand out to stop the ice from breaking because for me, I have to have something to do?

BE CAUSE

"I hate feeling helpless" Screw the Serenity Prayer. I hate feeling powerless and helpless in the face of things.

Yet, that very thing that will ease the growing burden on my shoulders is this truth,

"Sometimes, YOU can't do something. YOU can't superglue the ice back together. YOU can't stop driving and expect the glaciers to stay put and polar bears to keep eating. YOU can't. "

But, in prayer, in commune with the Creator God of this whole world (ice and polar bear and human industry and ingenuity included) I can hand over the burden, release it, not screw the serenity prayer but actually pray it, and then, only then, will I be able to find, in my own way, an appropriate response.

May it be so for more of us, to lay the blinding power and all-consuming responsiblity down, so that we can then see clearly enough to know what our response can be. Amen.

NO Soul in My Soul Food

2009-02-24T12:49:00.000-08:00

Collared greens. √

Macaroni and Cheese. √

Black Eyed Peas. √

Lunch today was special. It was “Soul Food Menu Day”. In honor of Black History Month. You see, I work at a residential placement facility for probation minors and downstairs from me is the high school they all attend.

The cafeteria is across the way and up the stairs.

Soul Food. I don’t actually know where the term was coined or why in particular the foods above are on a soul food menu. As for macaroni and cheese, but it’s easy to figure out. It’s my comfort food. Something to eat when I need to soothe the soul.

But, the food at work lacked soul. The collared greens were all onion-y and salty. The black eyed peas were in a bowl, watery, salty and mixed with leftover sausages from yesterday’s meal. And, the mac and cheese. It had no flavor.

Flavorless mac and cheese. It’s a crime. Or, it should be. If we were in a bizarre alternate universe where cooking for masses resulted in poor tasting meals that leave you a bit forlorn.

So, my soul food lacked some soul. There could be worse things to happen today I guess. At least I ate.

My iTunes

2009-02-19T00:17:00.000-08:00

Ten Songs from February 2009

1234 - Feist
Love Song - Sara Bereilles
Disturbia - Rihanna
Single Ladies - Beyonce
Mama Who Bore Me - Spring Awakening Soundtrack
World Music - Suburban Kids With Biblical Names
Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell
Here Comes the Sun - We Five (itunes, please add their other songs)
Son of a Preacher Man - Dusty Springfield
Earth Intruders - Bjork
Une Americaine a Paris - Rupa and the April Fishes

Theme: Everyone except #6 are female vocalists

Did I plan it? No. I just really liked the songs.

My other new finds but I have to wait a few months for more purchases: TV on the Radio and Animal Collective

As always, I still like those Conchord boys though!

why didn't Jesus heal them all?

2009-01-21T14:40:00.001-08:00

Luke 4

In this story, Jesus heals this guy who has leprosy, we’ll name him Josiah. After hearing the story, throngs of people clamor for him to heal them, pressing in at him.

And, what does Jesus do?

He goes into the desert place and prays. Alone.

Alone. Prayer. No healing. I’m thinking, “Jesus could have easily healed all those people who probably wanted or needed healing as much as leprosy dude. But, he didn’t. He withdrew. To pray.”

Take it to me, in the face of need, I am easily overwhelmed, as if I have to be the one to answer it all. And, I try to, falling miserably short, due to my own inabilities, my own lack of capacity to care enough or want to do enough, my own frustrations and jealousies.

My Weakness.

Jesus had a choice but he had to withdraw. He had to go plug his adapter into the wall to charge his battery. Healing that lepered man depleted his reserves of power like sending a video text message depletes the battery in your cell. Jesus had to go plug back into God through withdrawing from people to pray so He could again have the ability to heal.

Though, I wonder if some of those voices in the crowd at Jesus’ arrest weren’t all those people who weren’t healed by Jesus. Why not Sarah with palsy or Obadiah who was blind?

This lie that comes from the never-enough part of my mind, “It’s never enough what you’re doing”. You must work harder to help people, conquer that sin that stumbles you, you must not love God enough. That’s the rule. That’s Jesus message. More, more, more. Then, I find myself resenting others and God. I find myself hiding out watching TV, avoiding people. I find myself making excuses for why I can’t.

However, in my own life, I have suffered from several personal meltdowns regarding vocation. I feel like strings are attached to me and I have gone and tied the ends to a bunch of different people and then they all pulled all at once. What God is communicating to me is that in that moment when Jesus withdrew? He didn’t stop feeling the pain of the people or the hurt. Instead he first carried that pain to the feet of The Father, allowing Him to fill Him up with the ability to touch their pain.

That’s what God wants me to do. Fill up first. Understand His leading in my life through silence and prayer. I am not going to heal everyone. I can’t. I have to get over that belief now or I will consistently fail miserably at meeting my goal to heal everyone in my path. God doesn’t expect me to but He does give me the ability to heal those He has filled me up to touch. And that frees me. That gives me hope. That makes me excited to be His hands and feet.

A Journey....

2008-12-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

It's the summer of 1998. There are ten of us, from USC, living in three apartments on Garfield St. in NW Pasadena. We are doing LAUP (Los Angeles Urban Project). Two of us, Hung and I, are living in the one across the street from everybody. In a woman named Kay's room. There are two other women living here too. Tania and Jen Nichols. Jen is leading us in the summer enrichment program we are teaching in, in the church around the corner. The Pratt's, who are directing a start-up missions organization called Servant Partners, live downstairs from us. It's this summer that really sets in to motion what I want to do with my life post-college- Community Development, Relocation, Work Cross-Culturally, Work With Low Income and Immigrant Children and FAmilies....Servant Partners. In fact, at the end of the six-week program, I stay on with a friend in the neighborhood who had graduated from USC the year before to assist them with a Vacation Bible School they were having for the same children. That's when I went to the Servant Partners office with Lynette Young. That's when I decided to do the internship.

It's now Spring of 1999. I am graduating, heading overseas to Ghana, West Africa, with a group of people from USC and Pomona College. Then, I'll come back to LA to do the Servant Partners internship somewhere in the area (my choice is NW Pasadena then South Los Angeles). Graduation happens and I am waiting for the trip. Get the call. I am going to be doing SP in Lincoln Heights (where LAUP had their big meetings every week).

Set into motion. Ten years later. Eight of them lived in Lincoln Heights doing those things I yearned to do in '98- working at the Boys & Girls Club, serving as representative in two community development groups, working with a church plant, making friends with my neighbors, becoming a part of the neighborhood.

2004-2005. Things changed. First, I changed churches after the church plant disbanded. Then, I changed jobs once the move to the Northwest wasn't going to take place in Winter 2005, and the Club job was no longer what it used to be or no longer where I wanted to be, and Sister Angelica at Santa Teresita invited me to come on as an Art Teacher (something I did want to try). I started going to CAmbodia and got more involved in the global outreach at my church in Pasadena. I decided to leave Lincoln Heights finally and my job at Santa Teresita.

2007-2008. A year in Glendale with a friend from church. A year of temping at a social services agency near my old hood of Lincoln Heights with a similar group of kids from the Club. A chance to heal and learn and figure things out. A year of trying to take a break from volunteering, "doing" ministry, being too involved, so that I can reflect and pray and figure things out.

2008. Finally, after years of dreaming and years of prayers. I am living on Garfield St. again in the same house I lived in 10 years ago, only I live downstairs now, where the Pratt's lived back then. My roommates are Kay, now owner of the house, and Tanya, who lived in the apartment upstairs all those years ago. Jen Nichols- still lives up there in the same room. My good friend, Cyndi, who I have been learning a lot from about sabbath and prayer and taking time out from doing to just be- she lives upstairs too (in that room I lived in all those years ago).

My room has a work space, a studio if you will. This has been a dream now for five to six years. A studio space to do my art. I live in an old house from the early 20th century. I live in NW Pasadena, where I wanted to live all those years ago. Now, God is continuing to help me dream, build up, and plan for the future.

What's next? Well, I have some ideas that I am praying through right now. But, mostly I am taking time out to cultivate my creative side and to grow in prayer and to just be rather than do so much. And, I still work at that social service agency. Only now, I'm full time there. It's just down the road from my house too.

Things come together and we journey down roads and sometimes we come back to places we visited before and sometimes we don't. Sometimes God takes a while to answer our prayers but when He does, He does it well. For this I am truly grateful.

Mistakes...I've Made A Few

2008-12-05T10:35:00.001-08:00

More than a few is more like it.

Why is it still so hard to sit with mistakes without melting down inside my head? Like its a new revelation. Like I've been fired for making a mistake in the past. Like I'll be fired now.

But, every week, sometimes every day. It's the same thing. Wake up at 5am, wondering how to apologize, what to say, when to say it, should I say something. The feeling is paralyzing. I am wide awake, unable to sleep, deeply convinced that it is irrepareable and no one can trust me. Or, stay awake until 3am thinking things over. One or the other.

I become so completely convinced of these things at times. Irrevokably convinced that I can't do any job, not even be a bean counter, because I'll get tired or impatient somewhere and miscount the beans.

The Beans. Somehow, I am stuck on the beans right now. Realizing that my worth is not built up on my ability to count beans the best every day. It's about learning from my mistake of miscounting the beans that one day or accidentally knocking two beans off the desk and forgetting to pick them up and having them get pushed underneath the power strip under the desk.

It goes back to school. It wasn't like my school performance was A+ all the time. I failed many a time and yet i still graduated high school, received a scholarship to USC, went to school there, graduated, and have had steady employment ever since.

Somehow. My worth is still caught up in all this though. How I see myself matters...and how I respond to disappointment. Particularly, when I underperform or make mistakes. Some of it really has to with feeling sad and angry that I missed the opportunity to have the experience turn out well and still some of it has to do with feeling like my ego is wounded and wanting people to like me again. As if grovelling is going to do it. Most people just get annoyed.

My brother tells it like it is and I appreciate him for it.

"BJ, you have to stop trying to make everyone happy (because you're not making any of us happy, least of all yourself)." It's true. No one is happy.

But, I keep moving forward, somehow after two and a half hours of laying in bed fretting, I manage to shake off the night, get out of bed and start the day.

When will the corner be turned? Every day, I am turning a little bit but the movement is ever so slight that to notice would take a shrewd observer of which I am not because the focus is always on keeping everyone pleased, which of course i will never do.

On Morals and Laws

2008-11-28T13:30:00.000-08:00

Isn't individual wealth a moral issue?

So, why are religious people not out there fighting to regulate individual wealth?

Why are there churches that promote the prosperity gospel?

Why are churches pouring obscene amounts of money into political campaigns (particularly the Yes on 8 one)?

These are the questions that have been running through my mind lately.

I watch the Proposition 8 stuff, the presidential campaign, the world at war, and so on and I hear the different people argue and think...I don't agree with any of you...not fully.

Then, I also think, the church has diluted itself and the reason that the Prop 8 stuff in California and the subsequent fallout at its passing has emotions running so high is that people are reacting.

Both sides are reacting. No on 8 side is reacting to the church's hypocrisy and stance that morals and traditional values and so on come first but not practicing what they preach. They are reacting to the words and the campaign tactics used. They are reacting to the fact that a number of people came from Christian homes that excluded them or shunned them because they came out or are friends with people who were shunned. They are seeing that big funders of the campaign were the Catholic and Mormon churches- both places that have complicated histories of not being very "moral", particularly when it comes to sexuality issues.

The YEs on 8 people are using the words "morals" and "values" and how this is a democratic process and it is within their rights. They are reacting to fears of what will happen to our culture and society if gay marriage stayed legal. They are reacting to what they see as a demoralization of society that if we don't speak up will just happen and they'll just have to accept.

For me, I am not in agreement fully with either side, although I tend to react to the emotion, the lack of humility coming from a lot of Christians, and the use of the Bible to support it all. I don't think that Jesus would have approached any of this in the same way. Which makes me think- what would Jesus do?

Jesus got the angriest at the people who set up shop in the temple in Jerusalem. The way I see it, he was angry with the way commerce and the church co-mingled. That money was an issue. An issue that the church wasn't seeing. An issue that enraged him that he blew up at them and overturned the tables. Why isn't the church getting mad about this? Instead, we support it.

So, at the end of the day, this is where I sit- holding on to my heart, sad, angry, concerned, unsure, focused more on how we hurt each other and the lack of humility present in the Christians. This last part is where I truly get stuck. I don't like it.

There has got to be a better way and truly I do believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Are You A People Pleaser?

2008-11-18T10:40:00.000-08:00

My weakness:

To worry about what others think of me and get nervous about things I have done.

Yesterday, was particularly bad. I had written email to someone at church that I felt maybe was too critical, then things at work were in upheaval and I was unsure if I was contributing to it, and things just snowballed.

Common Symptoms:

Thoughts like, "Maybe I was too harsh, too this, too that.", I have a hard time sitting still, I have intense, vivid dreams where my insecurities are played out in some rather creative and strange ways, thoughts like, "I don't want to be a diva or come off as this or that.", slouched shoulders, I become timid in my interactions with people, and so on

These thoughts were going through my head yesterday when I opened my email account and found this email subject line:

Subject: Are you a People Pleaser?

This is the body of said email:
YOU CAN’T PLEASE EVERYONE

Becoming obsessed with what people think about you is the quickest way to forget what GOD thinks about you.

Trying to juggle everything life throws at you can feel like a three-ring circus. No matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to handle it on your own.
Bet you didn't know that was a good thing!

Well, they say God works in mysterious ways. Here you go! An email from some random newsletter I signed up for ages ago. Mysterious indeed but very cool!

Life In Death

2008-11-06T12:19:00.000-08:00

This week, I went to the group home to teach an art class to the boys. They were OK, besides their normal verbal challenging at the beginning. They all completed several projects to make a collective Day of the Dead altar, which turned out supercool (a word I used one day with them that set them off on a series of joking comments).

The primary purpose was to have their art focus on the life out of death transition. The Aztecs, who first practiced the ritual of Day of the Dead, believed in rebirth so the cycle of humans didn't end with the finality of death. The Spanish who conquered Mexico and the surrounding countries brought their worldview, influenced by their brand of Catholic faith, which believed that death was the end of all things.

But, it is a hopeless belief to hold, which allows little room for the chance to be renewed, changed, redeemed in life. It's a belief, that when acted on by many people of faith, puts them in to a position of preaching a hopeless faith. Without realizing it, our focus on sin and brokenness, can trap people in a place. They see no chance of living a different life, and worse yet, believe that God doesn't have that for them either.

The God I know though. The Jesus I know. Preached the "good news" of rebirth and hope. He breathed life in to all peoples regardless of their situation in life.

So, without bringing all of that in to the room Monday night verbally, I had them do it through art. By creating something, rather than destroying, by meditating on what is good in life and what is hopeful. As well by having them sit with the imagery of death (a skull), while transforming it to bring life and color, the hope is that they will get this...non-verbally, they will get.

This is why I love art, to communicate the abstract, the heart, the unexplainable or the difficult to put into words, in a form that is more palatable. May it be so that we would all see that life is never static or final but always changing and renewable.

Nightmares and Halloween

2008-10-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

Last summer, while in Cambodia, I had a nightmare. Not unusual. I tend to have vivid nightmares and have so for many years, particularly when my anxiety is induced. However, this nightmare was unusual. It was about Freddy Krueger.

The dream: Freddy Krueger is on the stage of a lecture hall at a college. I am sitting in one of the many rows. He is explaining how he is changing his ways and wants to redeem himself. He is going to get married and so on. He then asks his fiancee, who happens to be sitting next to me, to come down and join him. She is dressed in 40's clothing and happens to be the actress Virginia Madsen or just look a lot like her. At this point, he decides to do a slide show of his past set to the movie soundtrack. Bolt awake. This is when I wake up, sweating, underneath my mosquito net, in Ponhea Kreak, Cambodia. The music is what did it...

Lately, I've been thinking about that dream and then today, I gave in to temptation and watched part of it on cable this morning. This led to looking it upon imdb.com.

This is where it gets weird...

Weird Thing #1: The mother of Nancy Thompson in the movie, looks like Virginia Madsen to the T.

Weird Thing #2:Wes Craven, the writer of the film, said that he was partly inspired by a story of three young boys who survived the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia only to die after having a horrible nightmare, trying to stay up as long as possible, falling back asleep to have another horrible dream where they writhe and such, then have fatal heart attacks.

REFLECTIONS

Reflection #1: I had been thinking lately about this because upon my return from Cambodia last summer, I was unemployed for a month, walked into a temp. agency, got a job at this social service agency in Highland Park, and a year later, I am still there. The agencies focus- Day Rehabilitation services for probation minors. Part of my job allowed me to get an understanding of the stories of the boys, how the probation system works, etcetera. Rehabilitation for kids who broke the law. A chance to be redeemed is what the staff are trying to bring them.

Reflection #2: The day that I had the dream, the English lesson that I had taught with the Child Survival staff in Kreak entailed conversation about hobbies, likes/dislikes, and so on. One of the questions was: What are your fears?- and we all answered, to some extent, "bad people".

Reflection #3: Three years ago, the seeds of a story were planted in my imagination, and since then I have been doing research and writing this story. When I got the job a year ago, there was some questions about whether I wanted to stay or not, and then through some of the tasks I was given, it became very clear. I was given a chance to understand; the probation system, the cycle of crime and poverty, what happens when boys are suspected of vandalism, what happens when caught. In the end, this job has helped me with this story, something that I could never have planned on myself.

Final Reflection: I am not scared like I used to be of the movie. I never did sit through it all, after Tina was killed then walking in a body bag through the halls, I usually turned it off. (**One more weird thing: I walked the halls where they filmed the boiler room and interior scenes for the film- the Lincoln Heights Jail. The Boys & Girls Club had a Haunted House there and that was kinda creepy!!!!!!!!)

Connecting and Disconnecting

2008-10-20T15:56:00.000-07:00

These two active verbs here see a lot of action through our days. Whether we are plugging in or unplugging our appliances, getting on the Internet, talking to someone, finding out that the someone you are talking to knows people you know, hanging up our telephones....we are doing one or the other.

Connecting or disconnecting.

I am fascinated by connections. It's how my brain operates. Making connections all the time- from the obvious to the not obvious- sometimes my brain moves so rapidly in making connections that when I talk to someone, I skip over how I got there and just say the result, much to the mystification of others.

As a child, I used to fall asleep by making pictures of the textured wall paint or number games with the lines on the digital clock numbers. Sometimes I will be on the freeway, lining up the letters and numbers on license plates to make a word or story. Connecting things together. My college studies were about connecting all parts of an urban community together through design.

But, lately, as I have been in reflection mode for a few months now, I am beginning to understand the ways that I "bonded" when I was supposed to "separate" and "separated" when I was supposed to bond. Thus, the connections were disrupted. It was always frustrating to feel like I wasn't connecting with people, particularly my brother. But, now it's making sense. The next step will be to figure out how to flip the process and begin to "bond" where I need to "bond" and "separate" where I need to "separate".

Trash Art

2008-09-23T16:28:00.001-07:00

Currently, I am working on a sculpture in progress made from trash and recycled items (not this one, its an example from an email my aunt sent me, don't know the artist though!)

I am really digging art made from trash that I find in my car or recycle bin. There is something therapeutic about it that correlates to my life.

Jesus is all about making art from trash. He was a sculptor but I bet if He was alive today and speaking in parables, He would be the installation artist, the environmental artist, the mixed-media collage artist as well. He unites various objects that in themselves are not necessarily beautiful or artistic but arranged together they become art as they speak to people using imagery and telling stories about their creation.

It is in this place that I sit today, an extension of my art, on the decision point of whether to be truly vulnerable and show this piece of art at church on Sunday. Not for the sake of being vulnerable, not for the sake of positive of negative comments, but for this purpose, to communicate to others that we are each one of us objects (some of us may feel like trash, throw aways, etc.) and yet put together by the hands of the Great Artist, we become a sculpture, a collage, a beautiful story to be told. We are each a work in progress and transformable and redeemable.

Jesus can take the plastic grocery bags and Starbucks cups and gum wrappers and Chicken McNugget holders that we are and make us into works of art.

Oh, and here are some links about trash art that I have been perusing. Enjoy!

Bad Boys..What Ya Gonna Do?

2008-09-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

Last summer, while in Cambodia, I had a discussion with a few of my Cambodian brothers and sisters who I was teaching English to, about what we were afraid of. For the three of them and I, we all listed, "bad people", as something that drove fear into our hearts.

That same week, I had a dream where Freddy Krueger was in a lecture hall at a college and I in the audience and he was telling us about how he had changed and was reforming his life and was no longer killing people. And, in fact, he was getting married to the actress Virginia Madsen, who strangely was sitting next to me and dressed like a 1940's movie star. She got up and walked down to stand with her fiance and then they began a slide show with the Nightmare on Elm Street music, to which I woke up immediately (the music is sooo creeepy!!). This dream has stuck with me for a while as I think about the theme of redemption that has characterized my thoughts and life this year.

For in the 400 days or so since that dream, I have been on a journey to first understand redemption in my own life and next redemption in the lives of others, particularly in "bad people".

My job for the past year has been at a large social service agency that serves the community in a variety of ways but particularly in providing residential treatment for probation youth. These boys (and a few girls) are placed in dorms and group homes because they committed a crime or two, were placed on probation by the courts, didn't succeed in the home they were in, and the courts deemed it necessary to find suitable placement for them. Some would call them, "bad boys" or "delinquent youth". But, working with the large team of people who provide the direct services or support services, I have learned to see these boys in a new light every day and have first-hand witnessed the cycle of violence.

Darkness begets darkness if the light can't shine. But, too often, we think the boys should get over it and let the light shine and too often the boys stay in darkness because they can't find the light switch in the darkness.

Though many have hard exteriors and use excessive profanity and some have women issues or violent tendencies, they all are still children who grew up in lives filled with poverty, abuse, violence, substance abuse, neglect, abandonment, hostility, or trauma. They lived in communities where many others, from similar home lives, formed groups to support each other (gangs, tagging crews, friendships based on breaking rules). Some have difficulty with defining their sexuality and still others are sex offenders, some at the age of 13, usually because they were abused by someone when they were younger.

There has not been redemption for many of them or hope and for some, the path ahead is filled with darkness. For many, they face a public which stigmatizes them and reflects the same sense of hopelessness for something better that they themselves feel.

Finally, this theme of redemption has driven me to a thought recently that for Jesus to do what He did to save someone like me and to redeem me and bring hope to my path, He had to have done it for all of us including those "bad people" who we as humans have such difficulty hoping for or extending the light of redemption to. Jesus died to redeem even people like Hitler and Pol Pot for Jesus did not see "bad people" labelling them by their sins but instead He saw that part of them which was created by God and He saw a hope for them even though they died never knowing that hope or tasting that redemption and caused so many others to suffer because of the darkness in their hearts.

This is what makes me weep. There are many who will never hear the songs of freedom or knwo that they are redeemable by Jesus and will hurt so much that they will hurt others because that is the only thing they know.

The Pinch Hitter

2008-08-20T10:10:00.000-07:00

On Being A Pinch Hitter, or Runner

From the ages of 7 to 17, I was a Fastpitch Softball Player. Attending pitching and batting clinics with my dad and sister, we were always on the go as a family to some tournament, whether it was mine or my sister’s. We even had my brother’s baseball tournaments, his and my sister’s basketball tournaments and games…you get the picture. I loved playing softball all those years even though I was rather shy and had difficulty feeling that I was a part of the team.

Upon entering high school and trying out for the softball team that first spring, I figured I was a shoe-in for at least JV. But, placed on the 9th grade team and not even getting put on the roster, was the first in a series of blows to my softball-playing ego. I continued the Dept. of Rec. leagues but saw less play there as well. Something had shifted. I was no longer good at softball and something else too was lost- I think I lost the desire to work hard and get better at it. By senior year, I was finally on Varsity but was still not on the game roster until…

…they found something I was good at being-

The Pinch Runner.

So, for that season. From Game 1 on, I was the pinch runner and sometimes, much less so-

The Pinch Hitter

It was kind of cool. Subbing in for folks who needed the break, getting to play a role for the team even for a little bit.

That said. I think of my life today and how in this last year, I’ve been functioning like that in my work- The Pinch Runner- subbing in for folks, helping out, being the relief for those who are working hard for the team, and being able to play a role for the team even for a short period of time. If I can have relieved those out there in the field even that much so they can focus on their main tasks, then I am happy.

It’s not so bad. I kind of like this role for now. Still very much a part of the team. Still contributing to the end goal as best I can.

Fruit....

2008-08-08T12:28:00.000-07:00

Fruit. We eat fruit every day or, at least, we are encouraged to do so.

Eat your colors. Five-A-Day. An apple a day keeps the doctor away.

Fruit comes in all shapes and sizes and flavors. More recently, scientists have been debating in the news about what we call fruits...did you know that strawberries are technically between a fruit and a vegetable as the seeds are on the outside. Bell peppers. Fruits, the seeds are on the inside.

In Southeast Asia, where I recently spent some time, the fruit that we ate was quite different from what I am accustomed to. They didn't really sell any of the familiar items either. My favorite by far is this one called a "mangosteen". I Heart Mangosteens. The strangest one is "durian" for it has this funky smell that you catch a whiff of whenever you enter the markets.

In my thinking about fruit lately, I think of the imagery of fruit used in the Bible. Fruit of the spirit. Fruit of thy womb Jesus. And so on. Fruit means something produced and life giving and bearer of life with its seeds for recreation intact. I was reading a chapter in this book I borrowed from a friend called Envy: The Enemy Within. The line that struck me was something like this, "sometimes the fruit can be frustration as we are being changed and learning to let go of envy".

Frustration as a fruit. It doesn't seem like a fruit to me, it smells kind of funny and looks not like the fruits that I'm used to. But, in the case of being changed, in stretching and growing into newer versions of ourselves, transformed by the power of the Cross and the love of God....frustration is just that, a bearer of new seeds, to be planted in our hearts and bring forth more fruit.

Like my experience in Cambodia and Thailand, eating delicious fruits so new to me, I am going to embrace the fruit of frustration in my life knowing that it is a bearer of even more fruit.

2008-07-29T22:35:00.001-07:00

Justice once again shall come clothed in peace.

Some Updates

2008-07-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

This is vacation. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be. I am enjoying the break from all the things "to do" and things that I think I Should Do. That's the S-word as far as I'm concerned. Should. "We should all over ourselves!"

No. I'm on vacation from my life. Spending some time in what a woman named Shelley Trebesch calls: Isolation Period. I'm withdrawing from commitments to spend more time listening and discerning and figuring things out. Percolating. Boundary-Setting.

In the midst of this, the hope is to finally become permanent at Optimist Youth Homes and Family Services, after nine months of temping there, it will finally work to go on board there. I know them, the work is manageable, its 9-5. They will work with me and my future plans. It's a bit more money. It works.

In this time of isolation, while I process some decisions and spend long amounts of time with nothing important to do or places to be, my hope is to find rest in this life. Rest and peace. Cornerstones of faith according to my reading of the Gospels. We are meant to find rest in God and we are to be peacemakers. In finding rest today, my I build capacity for peacemaking in my life for now and for the journey ahead.

Amen!

Why I Live in Los Angeles

2008-07-07T13:55:00.000-07:00

photo © Jordan Miller for openphoto.net CC:Attribution

Lately I've been reflecting on my life choices over the last 13 years. I think back to my first month at USC, when I got on a bus alone to go by architecture supplies in West LA. I had to get off the bus in the Crenshaw-area alone and wait for my second bus. Whistled at and spoken to by strangers, I tried to ignore, but it was hard. I think of that memory as it always hits me strange that I, shy girl, bookworm, Barbra Jean, would be working in one of the largest cities in the world, cross-culturally, with the gangsters, juvenile delinquents, and street kids. But, I want them to know that they are loved in this world as they are and not for who they should be.

Two weeks ago, my friend Darla and I went to see a documentary screening as part of the LA Film Festival, at California Plaza in Downtown LA. The movie, "Made In America", was produced by Baron Davis, star player for the Golden State Warriors until recently (transferred to the Clippers last week). It is the story of how the Bloods and the Crips were formed back in the 1970's and the social forces that led to the full-on gang war that exists in the streets of South LA today.

At the end, a number of the real people in the film, activists in their community, answered questions and here are some of the things I took away from what they said:

These people are human beings not gang members.

We are not the other. What leads to suicidality in your neighborhood leads to homicidality in South LA...thus, we are all similar in our brokenness and need for help and healing (I paraphrased it)

Our own country will fund a huge campaign to stop violent conflict in another country but not in our own. Part of what got the people in these neighborhoods to this point were the forces of Poverty, Racism, and Joblessness, all cycling together to create a need for young men to band together in the 70's to help each other out. The violent conflict has only grown over the years and people are that much more hopeless and entrenched than in the past.

So, this...this is why I live in LA. It is to help bring hope and healing to a broken people. A people, who all those years ago when I was a young girl watching the LA riots on TV, hearing about NWA, being told not to wear red bandanas as it was a gang sign, became all too familiar with. There are many different worlds in LA that intersect or don't.

If I can be a part of bringing change to this part of the world in some small way then I am content.

Dastardly Mosquitoes Named Moe

2008-07-02T13:20:00.000-07:00

A year ago this week, I was minding my own business out in a village somewhere in Cambodia, following several World Relief staff around while they helped villagers learn to prevent Dengue Fever, when lo and behold but I was bit.

Bit by a mosquito named Moe, a daring one at that. I had long sleeves and pants on in humid 100 degree Cambodia- and a hat. I had sunscreen and bug spray on. Yet, he still came in near, bit my and left behind his poison. A week later I was the sickest I've ever been in my life, knocked flat with a fever in hot,humid Cambodia. The best part was that I wasn't alone and had great people caring for me. I saw Jesus come alive in that time just as much as I experienced my worst fears going into that trip.

A year later...

...and I am here, back to normal, Dengue Fever-free as the health insurance folks would like to make sure of. It has been cool to see how God has intertwined the paths of my life into one. The Art Therapist, Megan, here at my job, told me,

"You are percolating BJ. Let yourself percolate."

I like this image, preparing for the next steps, thinking and researching and connecting and learning so much every day. My prayers have been transformed, my relationship with God has become closer and more real, my worries have been allayed, I have had great peace when usually I would have great stress. I am learning to walk forward rather than be the five year old BJ who would sit down with her arms crossed and lip out pouting (only to have mom tell me that flies would land there so be careful). I am learning to move from the point of unfairness to the point of faith working through love that gets me to make decisions for now rather than resent the decisions that have already been made by others that I cannot control.

I am percolating and I am being shaped and I am excited. What is ahead? Sometimes I know and sometimes I don't know and with that said, I am more OK with the not knowing than ever before. Whatever it is, I will have along the lines of dastardly mosquitoes named Moe and 4th of July's on the Vietnam border.

Cambodia One Year Later

2008-06-15T10:50:00.000-07:00

A year ago, this week, I was on an airplane headed for Cambodia. After a fast-paced two months of preparation, there I was boarding the EVA Air flight out of LAX at 1:30am on Sunday, June 17th, 2007. Now a year has passed and here I am.

I have this cool opportunity to train the team headed to Cambodia this summer, however, I will not be joining them myself. I am so excited to hear their stories. There is a relief though in my soul that I will, for the first time in over 11 years be taking a "break" this summer. No intense summer programs where I am working with twice as many children for 8 hours straight for three months and no hosting of volunteers for six weeks for LAUP in my apartment. No getting ready for cross-cultural ministry in a foreign country, fundraising and living life at the same time.

No, instead this summer, as far as I can tell, I will head to my job at Optimist from 9-5 and then meet with friends a few times in a week. But, for one summer, I will relax and enjoy a slower-paced, less demanding lifestyle than I have had in ages. It will be a chance to focus on friends, writing, reading, reflecting, planning, applying to grad school maybe, training ESL folks, keeping in touch with them, praying for folks, Bible studies, and just chilling.

This makes me so happy! I don't have to be anywhere or do anything. Yeah! The hope is that I will spend some time reflecting and preparing for the next steps, which will most likely involve a return to cross-cultural ministry here in Southern California, in some format, helping the poor and disenfranchised have hope and have a voice. For now, my hope is to let my creative side flourish a bit and see what comes up.

I do miss Cambodia and hope to go back soon!

Why I Do What I Do

2008-05-15T10:12:00.000-07:00

"Do not underestimate our boys, they may not have had the same experiences as you or I but they have survived things we can only imagine." Overheard snippet from the Human Resources Director, Louise, about five minutes ago now at the Supervisors 101 meeting.

This is why my three month temp job at Optimist, a large social service agency, in Los Angeles, has turned into eight months and still going...sure it would be nice if it were permanent. Sure, my personality gives and gives without necessarily having anything given back to me some days. Sure, it's challenging to read the stories of what these boys and girl have survived and lived through. Sure, it's brought up my own issues time and time again and there have been days when I can't get myself to work, no matter what the incentive is or how much I self-talk.

These boys are teenagers placed by probation in a 24-7 Residential Treatment Facility for committing crimes and violating probation. There crimes and violations range and their behaviors are widely variant but all of them are survivors of broken families who when they were young and in most need of care didn't receive it and instead were hurt, neglected, or exposed to unimagineable treatment by adults or other children. They are children in need of help each one of them and no matter how tall, how tough, how angry they act, they are still very much children and no amount of name calling or cursing can change that.

Sometimes, prayer is the only thing that works.

2008-05-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

There is a commercial for some dental group on TV where a man and a woman are standing in an elevator and the woman tells him, "I don't believe in dentists", to which the man replies, "Well, they exist, whether you believe in them or not." This got me to thinking about a few things regarding God.

First, there was this movie, "The Golden Compass", that came into theaters in December amidst protests from mostly Christian groups. Emails went around stating that the author is a professed atheist and that the series of books, in which this movie was the first to be made into a movie, has its characters seeking to kill "God".

Second, it got me to think about the New Age movement and the verbage used by those folks to talk about the world. All of us want to make sense of this life and this world we live in so it is understandable why people are attracted to the New Age movements or even how Westerners are attracted to Eastern religions. A lot of what is proposed is that the power is within, the god is in us, etc. It's humanism with a spiritual theme not unlike the industrialists and our own society, who put the power in our hands and believe we can conquer, we can beat this world we live in or rather, we can "kill" God like the author, Phillip Pullman is supposed to be doing in his books.

But, these things, make me go back to the commercial and this existentialist notion: "Does God exist because we created Him?" or, "Does God just exist?".

Going back to Pullman's books, the depiction of the god that they are trying to kill, is an evil one, filled with greed, lust for power and control, and lack of concern for anyone but self. He is a reflection of the darkness of man. It is my thinking that if this is who God is, then I am an "atheist" too.

But, just because one calls themselves atheist and says I don't believe in God, does that make God not exist or does it make Him not exist to that person. In actuality, I wonder if a lot of what happens is that in us all trying to make sense of the world, we attribute things to God, reflect things on Him good or bad, thus making Him a creation of man if you will. Like, thinking that the world is black and white just because we are color blind, its how we view the world that makes it what it is. But, what if what makes IT what IT is, is that it just is. Thus, the attribution of evil, like in the Pullman books, is merely a human-created God, reflecting our view of the world.

For me, in these thoughts, it becomes clear that there is this base "thing" in the universe that is God. Creator God. You can believe in this Creator God and evolution and Big Bang Theory because you can believe that this is all God. So, if God was powerful enough to bring this world into existence, I believe that He had the power to do something like send Jesus down here to communicate with His people who He is, remind them of our true nature, then die sacrificially to try to get His point across to us.

"There is nothing you can do or say that can change me. You are the changeable ones, I am not."

In the end, the dialogue that needs to take place is what is it that Jesus was trying to get across to all of us really. What was His point in all of that? Was it all for nothing? This is the place I am resting in this week, meditating on, wondering about, and asking God about. What was Jesus trying to say?

Metamorphosis

2008-05-06T11:09:00.000-07:00

AP English. Senior Year. 1995. Mrs. Linda Stairet and 20 or so of my classmates that I'd been with for four years. She announces that we are going to read Franz Kafka's masterpiece, "Metamorphoses" for the next few weeks. She then comes to me and tells me that she will not have me read this book with the others, instead she will have me do an independent study of another story or book- less existential, less question-the-world crazy. Thus, I choose a story out of a collection of shorts entitled, "The Chinese Chalk Circle" by some author and we begin our separate journeys. In the end, I never did read the book and only heard bits and pieces of my classmate's discussion. The why isn't so important as the fact that my teacher thought too much change had happened for me that year, and existentialism was already occurring for me in my life, questioning of the world, the great big why with a question mark ever attached to my train of thought like the caboose that it is.

Change is inevitable and happens whether we choose it or not. We are either transformed by the forces around us or like Kafka's character wake up one day to find ourselves- cockroaches, or we do make the choice and endeavour to change. In life, the lesson we can take away is that change will happen with or without us. Change will occur whether we stress about it or not, whether we get in touch with our chi, pray to God daily, lead disciplined lives, eat well, don't do this or that, do this or that, have lots of money or no money, and so on. In some ways it is like Kafka's story and we wake up one day to being different versions of ourselves, shaped by the life that has happened around us.

The lesson that my heart yearns to take in during this journey through life is how will I choose to live in response to the change, will I keep moving forward, or will I stall on the tracks waiting for the other trains to go ahead.

For, in the end, change will happen, it always does.

Mayo, Inspiring People, and Facebook

2008-05-02T11:06:00.000-07:00

Ode to Facebook
tap, tap, tap
those fingers on the keys, the a , the f, the c,
apparently there is no work for me
for Facebook is my guarantee
ten times a day
two times an hour
check to see the news today
check to make a scrabu-play
post some photos
add some friends
fix the profile infos
all day long its what I do
like two cowboys in that film
just can't quit you can I?
hopefully you mean no harm
hopefully your novelty wears off soon.

Facebook is another way to help my day get filled up considering that the work that is done at this computer is limited and fraught by writer's block. Another fill-up-my-day tactic, thinking about people and how they inspire others. Take for instance, my friend, Jen, who has cancer at 36 that started in her breast, moved to her lung and liver and now is in five spots on her bones, what else can come at her but a family fraught with so much drama, I tune in to her stories more than what is playing on the tele set. But, the girl radiates joy and pure, simple faith, she could be pissed but she is joyful, she is Jen, she is broken and weak but she is real and God has made her a testimony today. I'd rather say these things to her face now not save them for some later reflection piece, like people do with elegies.

Another cool person is Ben Carroll. He passed away on Monday in the Tri-Cities, Washington, from complications of a stroke and spina bifida. He was 30 years old and a practicing lawyer and in a wheelchair since he was a child. He inspires because he chose to live his life and dream big and follow those dreams despite some people's hangups. He chose to live. His mother, Michael, noted in an article in my hometown newspaper that his body was now perfect and whole. Hearing about his passing the other day made me think of all the times our families spent together over the years:

Olive Garden dinners in the city
Softball games, softball games and more softball games
Mom and Michael and Michael's parents and Ben sitting out left field in lawn chairs with umbrellas every single game
Ben telling children that his electric wheelchair turned into a helicopter when he pressed a certain button
Ben entertaining everyone at dinner with his jokes

I am so glad we all knew him and got to live life with him and know his life.

So, on el segundo de mayo, my hope is this, that we would live our lives with people in the here and now, interacting with them whether face to face or staying in touch with all the modes of communication we have but that we would live life, taking the joy that is there for us, not mired in the muck of human tragedy but lifting above it. Let's live life.

Wish I Were

2008-04-26T18:30:00.000-07:00

Wish I were a baller, twenty-foot taller....

some song just popped into my head from another day, don't know who is singing it or when I heard it, and don't remember any other words

Some days, the stress of life that I am living comes from this place, wishing I were. It's weird too, how in my head I have these thoughts of wishing I were a better recycler, reuser, friend, owner of things, worker, human being, yet I don't always do the things I have the opportunity to do. No, instead, I do quite the opposite.

For instance, today, in the wishing I were more green category, plans for the day initially included the LA Times Festival of Books and then my book club dinner in Manhattan Beach. Both of these locations were far from home, requiring a large amount of fuel and me to be in a car.

Thought! I know what I'll do, take the Gold Line to Red Line to Metro Rapid 720 to UCLA, get a ride from one of the book club ladies to Sarah's then a ride home from Lisa.

NO! I really want to buy new summer shoes, mine are falling apart, plus I want to buy eco-conscious, fairly traded clothes, at a store in Silver Lake. (Go there first then go to UCLA, BJ)

But, there's nowhere to park and I've driven around the block three times looking. Go elsewhere BJ! So, I start driving without a destination (Red Alert!) and get to Lincoln Heights thinking it's better to buy secondhand anyways, I'll go to the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store there. No, I want to go instead to Out of the Closet back up the road about two miles, drive there, shop, buy some clothes, no pants or shoes of course, they don't fit and its weird to buy shoes second hand, they aren't clean. OK, let's try All Shades of Green again for shoes. Finally, this time there is parking and so I check this store out, only to leave having bought a hemp lotion on sale there and no shoes (I already have lotion at that). Drive again. Go to a coffeeshop girl and finish the book for book club and get the address. NO! I'm going to go to the Festival of Books still...on streets...so I drive for an hour (4:30 start - 5:30 finish). Then, it's too late, get on the 405 and head to Manhattan Beach now girl and go to a coffeeshop there.

I get on the standing room only freeway and then it hits me there. What was I doing? I wasted gas, bought clothes that weren't totally necessary (thought helpful for work and cute), bought lotion I didn't need, didn't eat or drink anything all day, and finally got to Manhattan Beach at 6:15pm, 45 minutes early for Book Club. I haven't finished the book, have a caffeine withdrawal headache and still don't know the address...then I see it...The Ocean and think first (you should have gone here in the first place girl, what were you thinking) and second is this

"You are here now, enjoy the ocean, the change in air quality, the cool breeze, and that you are not driving again for another few hours and you will see your friends from Santa Teresita and enjoy good food and talk about a good book and learn some new things, and you will learn from this BJ, you will learn, this is not the end of the world, look at that ocean, with the sun shining off it, you are here now and you are BJ and you are no one else and you will make the changes needed. Learn from this, let it shape you, let it teach you and don't whatever you do go to the depths of despair wigging out over how much gas you wasted and the small children that will die in a faraway country because of your demand for oil. No instead learn from it, take note of this, and make the changes you need to make so you don't keep doing this."

Conclusion: I could Wish I Were someone else or doing things better than I am today in this moment but I am me and I need to work with the me that exists and move forward from this point on. Wishing is a hopeful action that exists in our hearts and minds alone. Being and living is tangible and what is here today!

I can ride a bike with no handlebars...

2008-04-18T23:08:00.000-07:00

Someone once told me about these fish riding bicycles around in their aquarium but I didn't believe them because a fish didn't have the fine motor capacity to pedal a bike. This same person also told me that if you drop your popsicle on the ground and it splits in half that means your relationships will end up broken. I don't listen to that person's stories anymore and if we do talk, I look at her sincerely and nod my head but don't hear anything she says because she is full of crap.

33 Years Ago Today

2008-04-17T13:10:00.000-07:00

On April 17, 1975, the Khmer Rouge, at this point a cadre of guerrilla fighters resisting the current government and the war that had begun raging in the southeastern section of the country, spillover from the conflict in Vietnam, entered the city of Phnomh Penh, announcing an end to war and peace for the people. They drove through the streets of the city, using loudspeakers proclaiming their victory and announcing plans for all inhabitants of the city to leave their belongings and possessions and begin walking out of the city to new lives in the countryside. They initially made promises to the people of returning to their homes within a three day period.

The date was referred to as Year Zero at this point and began a four and a half year long experiment that led to the estimated death of over 1.5 million people from starvation, torture, mine explosions, and other means. It wasn't until the Vietnamese army finally invaded the country and successfully ousted Pol Pot and his leadership, liberating the people of Cambodia from the oppressive regime.

Immediately after the fall of Phnom Penh, DK leaders began evacuating approximately three million people from towns and cities throughout the country. Cambodia’s urban population had swollen to this size during the war, out of a total population of some seven to eight million, as refugees fled fighting in rural areas. Although DK cadres spuriously claimed that the evacuations were to prevent epidemics, starvation and to protect civilians from American bombing, this decision was, in fact, "a calculated, political decision, part of a wider agenda with economic and ideological rationale"(Chandler 1991:247). The evacuation’s purpose was to ensure CPK’s control over the urban population and to turn the "unproductive, culturally corrupt, and economically and politically exploitative" urban class into a new and productive people. The former inhabitants of cities and towns were forced to engage in agricultural labor in the countryside. Those who could not transform, chose not to, or who were considered a threat to the revolution were imprisoned and eliminated. Former high ranking government officials, businessmen, and military officers, for example, were immediately executed by Khmer Rouge cadres.

Pol Pot and his group built their ideology and plan out of a combination of the colonial resistance movement that swept the world mid-century, Marxist ideology, and a belief that the only way for Cambodia to return to its true identity was through an initial use of force, wiping out the generation of people who supported colonialism and the invasive structures that it brought with it. They believed that Cambodia was an agrarian society and that the people should return to the land. However, they themselves had become infected by the greed and "sins" of western society that they so reviled.

The country is still healing today and it was only 14 years ago that the country officially opened back up to the world.

Excerpts From "The Ragamuffin Gospel"

2008-04-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

By Brennan Manning

"The prophetic word spoken by Jesus to a thirty-four-year-old widow, Marjory Kempe, in Lynn, Massachusetts, in 1667 remains ever ancient, ever new: 'More pleasing to me than all your prayers, works, and penances is that you would believe I love you.' "

"Each encounter with a person (brother or sister) is a mysterious encounter with Jesus Himself."

"The call asks, do you really accept the message that God is head over heels in love with you?...If in our hearts we really don't believe that God loves us as we are, if we are still tainted by the lie that we can do something to make God love us more, we are rejecting the message of the cross."

"Each moment of our existence, we are either growing into more or retreating into less. We are either living a little more or dying a little bit, as Norman Mailer puts it."

An Octopus in the Aquarium

2008-04-11T09:43:00.001-07:00

How did the octopus get in to my aquarium? It is a rectangle made of glass with colored rocks and fake landscapes neatly arranged by a sister or maybe a brother and yet somehow there is now an octopus in there. I did not bring it home with me from the pet store for they didn't sell any octopus there, only fish the color of gold but more like a funny orange and those little black fish in their tiny, octagonal plastic homes who try to fight when they see their reflections. But, the octopus is surely in there now. Was it hiding in the fake volcano but he would have to be light because I picked that thing up and it didn't feel like an octopus would be hiding sucked up to the inner walls. No, perhaps, it was a free gift from Norris at the store- buy two fish get one octopus free. Nonetheless there is an octopus swimming in my aquarium, playing games of chase with my goldfish. I rather like this octopus, for now I think I'll keep him.

Poetry Again...Rage Against the Machine

2008-04-08T22:05:00.000-07:00

In memory of Martin Luther King Jr., who died 40 years ago this month on a hotel balcony in Memphis.

From their song, "Wake Up"...

You know they went after King
When he spoke out on Vietnam
He turned the power to the have-nots
And then came the shot...

A Poem

2008-04-07T15:31:00.000-07:00

Every summerI listen and lookunder the sun's brass and eveninto the moonlight, but I can't hearanything, I can't see anything --not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,nor the leavesdeepening their damp pleats,nor the tassels making,nor the shucks, nor the cobs.And still,every day,the leafy fieldsgrow taller and thicker --green gowns lofting up in the night,showered with silk.And so, every summer,I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --I am deaf tooto the tick of the leaves,the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --all of ithappeningbeyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.Let the wind turn in the trees,and the mystery hidden in the dirtswing through the air.How could I look at anything in this worldand tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?What should I fear?One morningin the leafy green oceanthe honeycomb of the corn's beautiful bodyis sure to be there.- from "West Wind: Poems and Prose" (1997), by Mary Oliver

I and Me

2008-04-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

I use the word I a lot as you can see. I am me, that's all I can be. Four times out of nineteen. My hope would be to learn how to step out of self-referencing in my essays, however, this blog is a personal blog documenting my journey through life, to help make meaning and help develop my writing skill and technique. It is difficult to get outside this head of mine, this world of mine I live in.

But, progress is being made, day by day, and hope is forming like a bubble forms on the wand as a bit of air passes through. Hope is growing.

My job is making me crazy, should I stay or should I go now? (Romans 12 comes up and says- "Do not be conformed by the world but transformed by the renewing of your mind so that you may do God's true and perfect will." But, I still go crazy...what should I do? where should I live? How do I handle frustrations and deferred decisions or opportunities? How do I handle this and be wise?

I feel like such a fool every day, making poor decisions left and right. Yet, that is when I am hard on myself. When easy, there is an ability to see more clearly and I am reinforced with the reality that I need to focus on the today, the here, the now...not the future. To date, everything has worked out according to God's good and perfect grace, and I have not been in need or want. I struggle with sacrificing things I don't need but want. However, it is always working out every day.

The current struggle has been on-going for seven years now, what do I want to do, how do I balance my time, where do I focus my efforts, what are my talents and how do I use them wisely? For, to date, my decisions, have not produced much of an income and I have a hard time sacrificing or sticking to a budget. Sometimes i feel like the stubborn child who refuses to give up just on principle, however, I want to live simply, cleanly. But, to do all this, I probably need to be less hard on myself and live life.

Memo to Madonna

2008-03-31T12:28:00.000-07:00

You don't need to remake "Casablanca". Find another story to tell. "Casablanca" does not need to be updated. Leave it alone.

End of Memo.

Free Love...

2008-03-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

As I type this, three brightly colored peace signs stare back at me from the corner of my monitor, making me think about...

...the Sixties, free love, the peace movement, and the Vietnam War...

It probably helps that I have other recent memories to connect these peace signs to. The anti-war protest in Hollywood, pacifism and the American Friends Service Committee website, being in Cambodia near Vietnam, the movie All Across the Universe, and a singer-songwriter on myspace who was giving away free downloads of her love song under the title "free love".

This concept of "free love" was tossed around in the sixties and my mind links to Woodstock and the Grateful Dead and San Francisco. My interpretation for years is that the "free" part was always an adjective, indicating that the freedom from restraints on the act of love, sex, was encouraged. "Do it with whomever, wherever, whenever and however with no regrets or guilt!" which would be accurate perhaps if love was sex. However, it got me to think today that, "What if the free was a verb, like people say 'Free Mumia!' or 'Free Your Mind'?" Thus, the emphasis is slightly different.

I imagine love being like Rapunzel trapped in her tower or I think about a story I heard the other day of a child whose parents locked him in a dog cage for several years. Then, I imagine our hearts with bars pressing in on the chambers of the heart and a huge padlock hanging off it. Or, love becomes animated with eyes and a mouth that are covered by cloth, its hands tied behind its back and, to make it relevant, it has a sandbag covering its head.

Free love. To take it back to a place, some who read this may not appreciate or understand, this is my prayer for today. Lord, free love in me. Free love in my friends and neighbors. Free it from the captors and bars and ropes and handcuffs and chains that bind it, hide it, choke it, drown it, beat it into submission hoping it will tell. Free the love within us that we all know exists. Free it so the capacity to love grows in this world. Please Lord, for I believe I shall see your goodness in this world and will not have to wait until the time after this one on Earth to see it.

Full of Wonder...

2008-03-24T14:20:00.000-07:00

Have you lost your sense of wonder?

This question was posed in a book that I was reading, The Ragamuffin Gospel, by Brennan Manning.

For Easter this year, my more-recently introverted, solitary self, decided to take a hike, to commune with God in nature, alone, unfettered by all the usual distractions. However, I traded one distraction for another- TV and Internet and children playing for bugs and hummingbirds and a hot, hot sun. This hike was in the Stough Nature Center and Canyon in Burbank, CA, about a five minute drive from where I live.

Initially, I thought it better to go for a low-level walk but then somehow seeing the other folks begin their ascent up that hill, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided that to follow them was essential. This curiosity paid off as I climbed and climbed, rounding a bend, thinking- "Can one see the City of Los Angeles from here?"- only to round one more bend and come out on a rise overlooking the whole of the San Fernando Valley. Awesome!

It made me realize that this is God's doing, all of this laid out before me and, even with that hot 87 degrees of sunny goodness beating down on me, I was glad for the hard work it took to get up there. It made me also think about the journey, looking at the wildflowers along the path, the man-made inventions to drain water better, the people that I passed, the bugs, the sagebrush and the greenness of the hills. This is what life should be, taking in the things that I am surrounded by as I walk, smiling and acknowledging the people I pass along the way, conceding the right of territory to the bugs flying about me ("they were here first, I am only visiting"), and the conscious choice to stay here with these bothersome creatures.

Acknowledge the hard stuff, the small things, the others along the way but keep going, pursuing the goal at the end. Keep that sense of wonder in life - heaven will be fantastically filled with a bunch of five-year olds.

2008-03-19T16:14:00.001-07:00

River Rock Memories...

2008-03-19T14:47:00.000-07:00

The places that we grew up in, hold special memories, painting poems in the sunshine for us to grab on, breathe life, find peace in a shaky world

Eastern Washington is that place for me. An area known as the Columbia River Valley, where the mighty Columbia turns north, Yakima and Snake Rivers join in unison with it. Sometimes, like today, I'll see a photograph and become nostalgic for the flashes of scenery that present itself in my mind. Remembering all the days, the happy days and the sad ones...so I decided to post some here.

The Horse Heaven Hills line the background and the Columbia River is in the foreground.

The mighty Columbia River runs through many canyon areas, gorgeous blue lined by grey and gold and green rock walls, colors change as you move from Canada to northern Washington Okanagon Country to the plains of the Columbia Basin to the border of Oregon and Washington and on out to Portland and the Pacific Ocean beyond. These grey rock cliff walls are part of my youthful memories, car trips to Seattle or Yakima or basketball games in Wapato and Moses Lake. Boating trips in summers from the Leslie Groves dock up to the place where the Hanford Area and White Bluffs begin and boats couldn't pass beyond.

It's not pretty landscape in the traditional sense but it has a sense of place and history and is very much a part of the Great West mythology. Indigenous peoples walked these lands for centuries, hunting and gathering and living life. Then, the pioneers in the 1800's saw this place and settled here.

The cool part is that the landscape is still relatively untouched by man, still natural, still beautiful in its own way.

War

2008-03-14T00:24:00.001-07:00

When will we realize that war is not the answer and never will be?

There are those who will support war as an answer and they will have reasons to support this. America wouldn't exist without war. Hitler and Stalin were trying to take over Europe and we had to fight back. But, war is still not the answer and never will be.

Then, there are those who will say the cost of war is this: some lives need to be lost for the right people to win.

But, the problem is that, like a game of poker, the ante keeps getting raised because no one wants to fold.

But its not the answer because violence is not the answer and violence will always exist while power exists. For what is more evil than else, the desire for power, to have the locus of control exist inside us or rather inside the few select those of us who can gain enough votes or who have "leadership skills". Because we live lives that require leaders and power and acquisition of more to fill our needs.

When will we get it though? When will we change? When will I change? I still live a life dependent on a system that finds it necessary to use war and military and police to keep order and help us acquire those things that I demand.

But, I don't need most of it. So, are my hands red because I have a TV, a computer, a car, food, candy and so on. I'd say "Yes!" My hands are red but this doesn't stop me or get me to change, it only depresses me, sinks me lower and then zone out, give up, resign. The very thing those in power hope for, that I will give up.

But, I'm tired of giving up.

Tuesday's Thoughts

2008-03-11T23:50:00.000-07:00

I was talking with a friend tonight about the Palestine-Israel conflict and peace in the Middle East- not easy topics to discuss. This got me to do some minor web searching on the issue and my search went from one website to another, I learned about Jewish People for A Free Palestine, and read that one of those persons is Noam Chomsky. So, I did a little research on him and this led me to click on a link on his wikipedia entry to- anarchism.

One of the first people to claim an introduction to the philosophy of anarchism was: Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Proudhon proposed spontaneous order, whereby organization emerges without central authority, a "positive anarchy" where order arises when everybody does “what he wishes and only what he wishes"and where "business transactions alone produce the social order."

But, this got me to thinking about the Gospel and Jesus. If anarchy is about having no order, no authority and that if everyone did as they wished and business transactions alone produced the social order, it still purports that people believe in business transactions and that is their wish to participate in that system. So, in the end their is still someone's order placed on us by someone else. But, then Jesus talked about "planting his seed wherever he wills and it will grow" and "that only he will choose where" and this puts the power to set order and give authority in God's hand alone. So, in all essence, Jesus was purportedly the real first anarchist because He preached that spontaneous order would emerge without a central authority here on Earth, no human could take on this role, only the Creator of all of this could have that role.

Later on in the wikipedia article, it goes on to talk about how some anarchists have supported violent revolt as a means to bring about the change they wish to see in the world. But, then I thought, this isn't true anarchism because violence, especially violent revolts requires some amount of power, even if it is in revolt to a much larger central power. In the end, they are conforming to the society they are revolting against.

So, I have to think that the only true answer is to anbandon all strength, power, and life to God, fully submit it all, recognize our true identities and live within that. If we did, then and only then true order would be realized.

Irony for the Day

2008-03-05T13:24:00.000-08:00

Soldiers as Peacekeepers

I find it fascinating that in the world today, the UN, the US and other countries refer to soldiers and police as peacekeepers. The irony is that the presence, the training don't necessarily keep peace but rather stir it up.

This thought stems from a headline about the finding of the body a French soldier, a peacekeeper, in Sudan. It also stems from reading some of the articles and rhetoric about the Middle East. Yes, this is loaded issue. Yes, I am untrained, discipline-wise, in the geopolitics and international relations of the region but there are pennies in my pocket that are jumping to get out of my pocket.

But, doesn't one stop and think about this:

A soldier who is part of killing another person, enemy or civilian and a soldier who witnesses death is subject to trauma. This is a basic physiological concept. No matter how much training they receive, these folks are not robots. They are human beings and as such will have some emotional response to the experience. Another base fact, is that traumitized people, unless removed from the situation that causes the trauma and given comprehensive therapy, will feed into the cycle of trauma. This is what our military and police are asked to sign up for and this is the system that we support as a nation.

Final thought- How is a militarized, police state actually a means of keeping peace?

It's not. The wool has been pulled over ours and we just buy into it because it is easier to support the concept rather than be opposed. Opposition to this belief system leads to rebellion which leads to much hardship.

Let's think on this one shall we folks.

The Good Samaritan - Another Modern Day Version

2008-03-03T10:03:00.001-08:00

Srong is part of the staff team for World Relief HOPE program in the Kandal province. He is in his late 40’s and a survivor of the war in the 70’s. Srong flexes his muscles to help us remember his name and is full of enthusiasm. He was in the Beginning ESL class during the evenings and along with ten others made the hour drive in from the Kandal provinces every evening. During the one class that I had with him, a Friday evening class, when his usual teachers had left on a trip, we read the story of the paralytic whose friends carry him to Jesus and the story of "The Good Samaritan". We talked about being a good friend and good neighbor to others and shared stories of this in our own lives. Here is Srong’s (paraphrased as accurately as possible)-
“One day, when I was on my moto on the highway in Kandal, I saw a man walking along the highway so I stopped. I knew that he was a Vietnam man and asked him where he was heading. He said that he was walking to Vietnam. So, I offered to give him a ride there. He got on and we drove the hour and a half to the border. I dropped him off and bought him a coca-cola.”

The Parable of the Good Samaritan

2008-03-01T10:54:00.001-08:00

The parable of the Samaritan retold in modern times:On one occasion a Zionist stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he asked, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?""What is written in the Law?" he replied. "How do you read it?"He answered: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'; and, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'""You have answered correctly," Jesus replied. "Do this and you will live."But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?"In reply Jesus said: "A Jewish soldier was going down from Jerusalem to the West Bank, when he got into a terrible car accident and was left on the road to die. Another Israeli soldier happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the accident, he passed by on the other side. So too, another Israeli, when he drove by the place of the accident he did not stop to find out what was going on and to assist the person in the car. But a Palestinian, as he was “illegally” crossing the border to find some work in Jerusalem, came where the accident was and rushed to see if the person in the car was OK. And when he saw the Israeli soldier lying half dead, he took pity on him. He dragged him out of the car as he was bleeding from his broken leg and the Palestinian bandaged the soldier’s broken leg with his Kaffieh. Then he put the man on his back, took him back to the squatter camp that he was living in and offered him some cauliflower cooked in tomato sauce in a tin can over an open fire. After the soldier had gained some strength the Palestinian gave him the only calling card that he had, asked him if he needed anything else and sent him on his way."Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the soldier who had the car accident?"The zionist replied, "The one who had mercy on him."Jesus told him, "Go and do likewise."

Popcorn Thoughts

2008-02-26T00:14:00.001-08:00

Solidarity will transform the world to:
* Cherish and uphold the sacredness and dignity of every person * Commit to and practice peace, justice and reconciliation * Celebrate and protect the integrity of all creation

Movies I Want To Watch:

La Vie En Rose or La Mome as it is called in France

Once

Persepolis

"Set the captives free..."

Too much grease and carbs. Got to start exercising. I've become too sedentary and can feel myself adding pounds.

Someone stole my blog entries and posted them on their own blog and didn't even re-work them. I read somewhere that plagairism is a form of flattery, true or not? I wonder.

Viggo Mortensen was so scary in that clip from Eastern Promises last night on the Oscars. What happened to Aragorn? So sad but good acting.

Things I'd like to do if I had the time (or would make the time rather):

Learn to make short films

Read the twenty books on my Must Read list

Write those stories and see what becomes of them

Get my Masters in Social Work

Get my Masters in Creative Writing w/Social Justice focus at Antioch Los Angeles

Do a work of art each day

Go on a hike every three days

Write the graphic novel idea I have

Free the captives

Go on a prayer journey through the world meeting people in the book Not For Sale

Be a voice

Be ears

Be a better intercessor

Have a garage sale and give proceeds to somewhere important

Be more eco-conscious, use less, spend less, do more with less, eat less, consume less, recycle more, be creative with my use of resources

Lose 10 pounds

Walk more in LA

Form a party band that is eclectic and quirky with friends and play only at parties - my motto would be, "We're so bad, we're good." I'd be the conductor/egg shaker/sometimes vocals but only sometimes. We'd play over the top folk-punk. It's a genre not explored much yet.

Enter a writing contest.

Submit articles to a magazine.

Become a PT freelance writer.

Read up on a grammar and become a better writer.

Start swimming for exercise again.

Sleep more.

Remember the people in my life in meaningful ways at meaningful times like my cousin's baby is coming soon and I would like to send her something special.

Ride horses.

Draw more to get better at drawing.

Pay off my credit card debt and manage my finances better. Be wise about spending.

Play games with my friends more. Wii, Settlers of Cataan, National Geographic Global pursuit, Apples to Apples, Nerts, Phase 10 and so much more.

Not be afraid of cooking.

That's it for now. It's late and I've got one thing on this list to do. Sleep more.

"I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living..."

2008-02-20T14:38:00.000-08:00

This verse keeps coming to me. It comes in my dreams. It comes in my waking life. It comes while I sit here at work, typing up reports for teenage boys in the system. It comes while I listen to my friend share, whilst weeping, about her brother-in-law, who is homeless and mentally ill, slipping through the cracks of a network of systems not able and not willing to help him. It comes while I listen to another friend share about her cancer coming back and being aggressive and how her brother refuses to get the help he needs and keeps returning to the streets to sell and buy drugs. It comes to me while discussing shame and grace and the cycles of shame-based thinking that fill our lives and force us each to confront our helplessness and feeling of frustration that we don't know how else to be.

I find more hope in Cambodia than I do in America some days. Sometimes all I can pray is, "God give him/her a bone. Come on." Sometimes these thoughts creep in, "What if God withholds and they aren't helped or healed. Why try? Why care? Why pray?"

But, God has reminded to keep His words close to my heart. He has reminded me that His words are enough. Beyond reason some days, I choose to trust that this verse is true,

"We shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living..." and so I shall pray without ceasing for big things to happen and hope. I shall have effervescent hope that cannot be contained. I refuse to be dragged down into despair and believe that evil wins, darkness wins. That we humans have it all right and that our systems are better and that we are more capable of taking care of one another than God is. This can't be right when I look around and hear these stories and think of my own helplessness at the loss of loved ones. There has to be something beyond me and others.

For surely goodness has to be possible today in this world. Surely.

Happy Valentine's Day! - PG-16 Rated

2008-02-14T22:46:00.000-08:00

Oh, nothing says Valentine's Day like some Kisses (Hershey's that is!)and also corporate espionage, New Kids on the Block circa 1988, Jordan Knight circa 1999 and eating pizza and some enlightening conversation.

Today, I celebrated the day with a few good girlfriends, chatting, eating pizza, the as-mentioned kisses and an Oscar copy of "Michael Clayton" that we never did get around to seeing because we loved chatting just that much. Anyways, our conversation took quite a few turns and ended and...oh...never mind, I wanted to give you a snapshot of it mostly because we learned so much tonight about-

Syphilis

Yes, that is right. This is what I spent Valentine's Day talking about. Syphilis. Did Hitler have it? Did the guy who dropped the bombs on Hiroshima have it? Who exactly had syphilis? (Because if it makes you all crazy then those world leaders who went crazy and killed lots of people. Had syphilis. Pol Pot, Idi Amin, Slobodan milosevic and so on)

Well, the answer is that Idi Amin did have syphilis but it is unproven whether Hitler did or not. Al Capone had it too. There are historians who have a theory purporting that Hitler contracted neural-syphilis in 1908 from a Jewish prostitute and this, combined with the effects of the disease led to him to take out vengeance by making the decision to exterminate an entire ethnic group of people. So, we googled this information and found that a book has been written called, "Pox:Genius, Madness and the Mysteries of Syphilis" by Deborah Hayden. The book is jam-packed with information about those dying to know more about this disease which it so lovingly calls a "romantic pathogen".

Yes, folks, they call it a Romantic Pathogen. So, the night came full circle with us ending on this note. Syphilis is considered by some to be a Romantic Pathogen. This is probably more than you ever wanted to know about the disease, for sure, more than I did. Romantic because it makes you go crazy and kill lots of people. Romantic because ??? How?

So, I go back through the journey tonight and wonder how did we get to this place. Loretta Lynn singing to Tom Morello singing to Would you date Tom if he asked you out BJ? to no and then drop a line from Austen to Shakespeare of course to wondering if Shakespeare was real to talking about walking on Shakespeare and Elizabeth 1's graves and Who is buried at Westminster anyways? Isn't it some English author? let's google it to find that Dickens was buried there to Are Shakespeare and Elizabeth 1 one and the same person to Henry 8th and the thought that he had syphilis to my friend asking this question, "Didn't Hitler have syphilis? I think he did." Which finally set us off on our Internet research in search of these facts only to find out that some now consider it a

Romantic Pathogen

How does a pathogen become romantic I ask of you people because if pathogen's are then I nominate "Dengue Fever" to take its place? Dengue is so much more romantic :)

Super-Politics

2008-02-08T11:05:00.000-08:00

Oh, how I try to resist. The sirens of the sea, politics and media, have been singing and I have yielded. Again.

This time, Super Tuesday and Superdelegates are of interest to me today. Oh, how I try to feign a lack of care but this anger wells up in me to boiling point. If I don't write about it here, perhaps, I will explode and this computer will no longer be and it won't actually matter anymore.

It's all over the news. Yahoo! News was talking about the importance of superdelegates to the democratic race today (why should this matter since I didn't even vote?). Superdelegates are those special people who are current or former politicians (ex-Presidents and so on) who perhaps like those mushroom guys on Super Mario Brothers when super-activated gave you more points during that period when they were glowing and racing around to the faster pace Super Mario music.

It's a sham. In America, we pretend that we are so democratic but in the end, our elections are still run like the mob, where the important people still matter more than you are I (perhaps this is why I didn't want to vote). Seriously, the article on Yahoo! made me think of just this- our electoral system and political parties are like labor unions/mobs/gangs only highly stylized and without directly using weapons or death. Does our voice really matter?

Why do we have to have such a labrynthine system anyways? Wouldn't it be easier just to tally all the votes one day and whoever gets the most votes wins? Rhetoric. A waste of time.

So, superdelegates get more of a say than you are I do because they are super?!?! Why does their voice matter more than yours or mine? Say it with me because they are super!

But, I fear that my voice doesn't matter much and that this hopelessness will overtake me and I will become apathetic, giving up and not doing anything. Again. For that's what they're banking on anyways and considering the fact that I didn't vote (I tried but they closed right when I got there), well, one can surmise, that this is already the case.

Music Promotion

2008-02-02T01:10:00.000-08:00

It started with Dengue Fever. You got to love them. They are unique and catchy.

I am in love with music. I don't want to go get in the business or on the circuit. But, there is something about a good song. I could go and write so much more here but nahh....instead I am posting a video of this band, "the Ting Tings" and their song, "That's Not My Name". I first heard it on Indie 103.1 and went to their myspace.com site and now here is the song for you who read my blog, which just might be Jessica but that's alright with me :) I am seriously addicted to this song...

They're Baaaacccckkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!!! Like Oh My Gosh!

2008-01-28T10:08:00.000-08:00

When considering what my next post would be about, I weighed the options- serious about death and sadness, inspiration about "freedom to the captives and so on" or....

...I should write on this. Upon opening Yahoo! up today, this is what I saw and it made me giggle. I am 11-years-old all over again and cutting out pics from Tiger Beat and YM magazine

New Kids On the Block are making a comeback folks!

That's right! My girlhood was spent cutting out pictures, dreaming about Jordan Knight and learning the lyrics to their songs. Just like me and all the other girls my age in the late 80's.

Like Oh My Gosh! NKOTB is back and they're in their 40's!

MLK Jr.'s Birthday

2008-01-21T15:47:00.001-08:00

Photo uploaded by Buddy Stone April 7,2007 to http://www.flickr.com/

Hope has four letters

each one is written carefully

with my fingers on the keypad

Hope was in this man

each and every day he spoke

want for a future of no more

Hope is a catalyst

each and every change requires

with eyes set forward onward

Hope gives no guarantee

each desire will be surmounted

with no eyes to tell the end

Hope is built on the unseen rising

each one has from deep within

wanting it to be true

Hope is a four letter word

each letter bigger than it looks

waiting on you to grow it.

Martin Luther King, Jr. is inspiration to us all. He moved forward, undaunted, until he was taken down by another. He voiced knowing that his actions, his speeches, could lead to his demise but he went forward still. Let us listen to his words and let his consider and hope for the future. Let us know that we can bring about the change we wish to see in the world, that we are more afraid of what we are capable of and what that entails than failing at it and that we too have a voice. Let us not be smokescreened by darkness and stumbled by the ordinary but let us be refreshed and reminded that we are all capable of being people who love well in this world. Today, on MLK, Jr's birthday, let us be inspired.

Top 5

2008-01-20T14:10:00.000-08:00

Here's my Top 5 of Everything for the Week:

1. Movie: "There Will Be Blood"
2. Book: "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert
3. Thought: "There's got to be a better way...and that way doesn't start big or in a vaccuum or with me or you sitting around on our hands. No, this way will come about in small steps forward towards a destination, moving in that direction as much as we possibly can, of course with Jesus as our guide."
4. Organization: Adom Partnership International - Support Africans helping Africans
5. Song and Musician: "Amazing Grace" performed by Joan Baez

...a speck, just a speck...

2008-01-13T15:53:00.000-08:00

We are but a tiny speck in the universe, ten billion times smaller than any of those white dots in the photo above. The cool part is that these tiny particles together make up a galaxy and together those galaxies make up our universe. That means that they are a part of something ten billion times bigger at the exact same time.

So, it got me to thinking the other day-

We are so small, us humans, in respect to the universe, mere specks. But, at the same time, we are important, vital parts, made bigger by our being part of the "something bigger".

We are made big by our collective unity.

Hmmmm....

So, then I look to scripture and Jesus and here is what He said-

Jesus sends this reminder to us, "Indeed the body does not consist of one member, but of many. If the foot would say, 'Because I am not an hand, I do not belong to the body,' that would not make it any less a part of the body...as it is, there are many members, yet one body."

Hmmmmm.....

Hope - Word for 2008

2008-01-08T22:57:00.000-08:00

Extended time with a 3-year-old can exhaust a person and refresh them at the same time. Hanging with this little guy in the photo above for four days was awesome- I got to play with superheroes and dinosaurs and robots and watch "Underdog" and go sledding and build snowmen and make snowcones and play Mario Party on the Wii and still the boy kept on going. He was so much fun to be around and to hear his little voice saying things like, "I'm sorry mom that you're so cold" or "What's the plan BJ? ...No, that's not the plan...What's the plan BJ?"

So, I come back from an exhaustive week of playing with this future Olympian, NBA star, Nobel Prize winner, phD candidate, DDR Champion refreshed and ready.

Refreshed because I'm reminded of possibility and youth and a hope for the future and I am excited for what 2008 has in store and am working to remain positive in my outlook and not let the usual weigh me down.

"...to provide you a future with hope...for I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living...proclaim the year of the Lord's favor, to set the captives free..."

2007 Hmmmm...What do I want to say?

2007-12-31T18:28:00.000-08:00

Every year at this time, the newspapers and magazines do stories on the, "Year That Was" or "A Year In Pictures". So, I thought one of my very own would be a good idea:

Mexico in March in a castle on the sea eating cheap lobsters with twelve friends dancing in a Spring Break bar to the Timberlake love ballad, "Sexy Back" after discussing human trafficking and how to fight it
Forays in February into inspired table centerpiece decorations that work for a benefit dessert for "Human Trafficking" where I learned and they learned and we all learned and then got motivated
LA Girl standing in line for Tom Morello and his soulful folk protest songs with Darla only to find out we were standing in line for a reunited Rage Against the Machine and Motley Crue show - Didn't get in
Pulling out prom dresses with my friends in May and heading on out to East Hollywood, to the Dresden to be exact, for our own night of memories
Last minute changes to our May Grand Canyon Trip had Sarah and I renting a van at 2am and driving for 9 hours east to the Granddaddy of all canyons only to have our lethargy turned around by the 15 other friends, good food, fun games, cold weather, and ravens- lots of them but no Poe, no Poe
Cambodia in the middle of the rainy season for two months with a few friends and a bunch of strangers teaching English to our Cambodian brothers and sister, learning new words, new diseases, new heartaches, about my heart and passion for others, for reconciliation and for God, and what my purpose is shaping to be
Harry Potter 7 in Cambodia while recovering from Dengue Fever, a brutal but brief sickness, that came and went three weeks later but those were good times, good bonding times with Americans
Time in Thailand was short but sweet and I am glad I went and learned and saw and was there just being and feeling and thinking about injustice and brokenness and the world and prayer and reconciling peoples and hope and so much more...
Dengue Fever, the band that is, became my obsession, and so I finally saw them live in October, with a good friend, Cyndi, in Pasadena and with Darla, in Eagle Rock :)
Lake Tahoe (pictured above) is the place of good family memories and so we went, my sister, nephew, brother, aunt, uncle and I and enjoyed ourselves, at the end of August
Difficult roommate experiences turn out to bear much fruit and force me to make a move I'd resisted for several years and in the end that move was good for me
Old jobs end, good jobs end, and new jobs are found and through them, I find myself, and I find faith in God and what a depressive disorder looks like and how to get help
Finally, a trip home on a bus for two days with a desire to be flexible yields an awesome time with family and four extra days with my sister and nephew that weren't expected- a nephew who is now 3 and now a little boy and now full of so much energy, I got tired watching him play

Now, I am here, its almost 7pm on New Year's Eve, another year is going by (my heart tightens just a bit as I think of another year coming on, passing on and then releases), and I am thankful, actually content. I am content. I have a family who loves me and who I love back, an education, a heart, a faith, a hope, a future, friends, a church, a bible study, friends who are mobilized, a deepening sense of justice and doors are opening in front of me. So, I am content because it will all work out and my life is good, way good, despite the things that are missing. In some ways, there will always be this sense of missing things, missing out. But, life is good now, today, in this moment and for that I am ever grateful and tomorrow, is when the dieting starts and the resolutions begin but today, its OK to just be me and try and hope.

The Best Christmas Present Ever

2007-12-19T18:13:00.001-08:00

(Photo courtesy of Kurt Magoon, Waukesha Civic Theater, taken from flickr.com)
"Hey you, unto us a child is a born."

Gladys Herdman, the youngest child in a local family with a reputation for being the worst kids in school, proclaims this line, in the '80's classic, "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever". A movie that has been forgotten for too long, folks, too long.

I was thinking of this movie the other day and had this thought- how context changes the meaning of once cliche lines. For as I reminisced on the fun memories of this movie, the meaning of this statement made more sense coming from a child who others had difficulty loving.

First, the 'us' is key. Gladys and I and my next door neighbor and everyone alive on this planet today and in the past and in the future are included in this simple, two-letter word. Believers and non-believers, rich and poor, naughty and nice- we are all a part of this 'us'.

Second, this one small child proclaims to us that another child was born, for us, as a gift. Born into this world, just like all of us were- as an infant, small, fragile and dependent on the care of others. He was our gift that day thousands of years ago.

When spoken from this girl, a child herself, small and in need of the care of others, it reminds me of who we were and who we all can become, which in my opinion is "The Best Christmas Present Ever".