Jeez I Got A Lot To Learn...

I decided two things. That the previous post only humbles me further in that I have a lot to learn about prudence and humility. 

My attitude that day was inexcusable.  My authorities are there because God put them there, and indeed whatever impression they have of me is because I talk too much. And whatever erred opinions they harbor with regard to me is because I talk too little. 

God is teaching me about deference toward them, as well as prudence with my words.  My last post did not reflect a humble spirit, it reflected a wounded one, and my first mission (as stated to the right) is to turn the eyes and hearts of people toward God, good, and charity.  Instead I turned them toward myself and wished to provoke pity for myself. 

Humility, as defined in the Word, is to "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit" (Phil 2). I chose to leave my last post where it is to remind myself of a few things: 

1. We cannot retract what we say - what is done is done whether we "delete" it or not
2. Life is a learning experience - I can still hit "delete" on yesterdays failures, and move forward in Christ
3. Mostly to remind myself to push forward with my mission - directing people towards God

Instead of making this blog another serenade to myself, I'd like to say that it's wonderful to know a God Who allows new mercies every morning, Who loves us infinitely and in spite of ourselves, and Who is always willing to teach a willing heart.

My apologies.

Humbled Again... Again

I have been humbled by a variety of things this past week. Welcome to my blog. It should be called The Open Book.

1. We went to Cuernavaca again, and I was humbled by my utter lack of knowledge with respect to scripture. I sometimes will (*shudder) compare myself to others and think, "No, I'm okay. I at least know the facts about x,y,z." I found out this weekend that this is no way to measure knowledge.

2. I opened up to some people who I trust, who in turn repaid me with unkindness, or at least did not do me the courtesy of believing me to be sincere. As a result my reputation has been disparaged in the eyes of my leaders. I feel conflicted about explaining things or letting it be.

3. One of my leaders recommended that I ask my leaders, "What areas of my life need improvement?" So, in a natural response, I posed this question to this same leader. He let it slip that my superiors view me as disorganised and therefore sometimes overlook me for certain tasks, even though my creativity is fit for it.

4. Lately I'm wondering why my heart has grown a little (*shudder) complacent with my relationship with God. I find it easy to fall into the fast-food mentality: desiring an experience quick. When it gets to hard - like having to cook or press into prayer - I tend to give up.  I'm stuck with the desire for more, but with not enough resolve to press in with perseverance.

5. I'm no good with sensitive people. My correction sometimes doesn't turn out sounding very loving, and I say things without thinking them through more often than I'd like to admit.

I may be living in what David Sliker called "divine tension" when I say I feel that my faults are both positive and negative. I should be thankful for my lack of ability because this is where God will supply, and I also sense that this lack of ability is an area God expects me to improve on - with His help.

Maybe it sounds like normal stuff, things that I shouldn't sweat about, but if I'm sweating, there must be a reason for said perspiration.

If you have a minute or two to pray for all the above, mention me to our Father and we'll see if there's any improvement in the next few weeks.

House of Prayer, Cuernavaca

Just wanted to drop a few raving lines about the International House of Prayer (IHOP) in Cuernavaca. I believe it is the only one affiliated with the original movement out of Kansas City, but they assure me that there are countless other "Houses" around the country.

I went at the invitation of a lovely person, fun, fresh and fabulous Sarahi. Other people I've come into brief (some not-so-brief) contact with have some connection there, so I felt curious to see this place, and to find out a little more about the House of Prayer in general.

We arrived, and I was enamored right away. I was acting like a crazy person who hasn't seen the outside world after a long time of isolation - asking the taxi driver what that was, if the city was this beautiful everywhere, if there were a certain monument I shouldn't miss the opportunity of seeing.

Soon, we walked through a gate, down a lovely stone staircase, to a covered courtyard surrounded by tropical flora where they were already gathered for worship. I was shown into the room where they cover the country and the world with prayer for 24 hours a day. We were invited to dine with the internship graduates and congregants of the local church. And they arranged a full "set" for us to spend two full hours just hanging out with God.

I have never been among more amiable people - no offense to those who I've been among in the past, you are quite amiable, as far as I can remember. They received us not with just a smile and necessary niceties. They were genuinely happy to see us without even knowing us. Props to Maya, the internship coordinator for her extra niceness.

We arrived during the internship graduation's closing remarks. There were messages shared by people who accomplished impossible things, and whose calling in life is very much a Mary vs. Martha - they work by sitting at the feet of Jesus everyday, interceding for the world. I can't think of a harder job, or a more desirable one.

We did what I like to call a "Perkins," because, when I was young, we would all do the same thing every Wednesday night after youth group - go to a restaurant called Perkins and hang out.  They recieved us, sat us down, we talked like old friends. The time they spend with Jesus every day simply oozes out their pores.

That's the explanation I'm going with: oozing Jesus-pores.

One day was not quite enough for me....

A Public Huddle

I've written it down. 

The P-L-A-N. 

The strategy.



There is something growing inside of me, something that has a lot to do with changing the course of this world. Learning more is teaching me to want to learn even more, to dig, to memorize, to yearn, to act. One day it will all culminate into something bigger than my front yard, or this city. It's something I believe that God is preparing.

I just told a friend that's how I feel: God started brewing something in me, but it hasn't yet come to a boil, it's not quite to the point of taking it out of the pot to serve. When He does, though, watch out!

Leave Your (teeny-tiny) Mark

I took a lesson from my new friend, whom I like to call Mister Itsy Bitsy.  I imagine he was minding his own spider-business, wandering around in his giant spider-world that didn't seem created for him, or for his career of crawling about on the ceilings of things.

"What's the point?" Mr. Bitsy was probably thinking. "What I do is so insignificant. All I do is crawl around, I make my bed in a strange place, one that seems perfect one day - all angular and corner-like - and then this giant hairy green animal connected to a stick (sustained by an even more alien thing I think I've heard called an Emily), comes and wipes me out when I'm out grocery shopping, and I have to start all over again..." 

What kind of a life indeed? Mr. Bitsy probably thought his life would never amount to much. The daily grind, spinning his bed, waiting for some grub, avoiding the vicious other-end of my broom, when he fails he spins his bed again... 

Then, without warning, he steps out of his back door, and leaps.... 

He took an unexpected dive, past the busily occupied face of the creature he only knows as an Emily because that's all they call me, those he observes from his seemingly-mundane kitchen window. 

I'm startled, he's just as surprised and in a blind panic, starts to run. I notice a teensy weensy spider-shaped white smudge and grab the proverbial rolled up newspaper... Wait! What is that? I lean in and squint at this phenomenon. 

Maybe I exaggerate, but I have a huge smile on my face, and I'm showing everyone that comes in my office this little smudge (still hasn't simmered enough for me to clean it up). It's just dust! In the shape of Mr. Bitsy. 

Maybe he lived a mediocre life, up until I squished him with my newspaper, but just one day out of his WHOLE life, he decided to jump, out into the unknown. Maybe it didn't last long for him (sorry Mr. Bitsy, I too, panicked), but he certainly left a mark, clear, fascinating, and unmistakably his.

Don't be afraid to leap, the moment may be brief, but you never know what the ripple effect could be, whose life you could impact.

Do you think your life is a little to gray? What kinds of chances can you take in order to make a difference in your tiny part of the world? 

Batman, America and Morality

So, I cannot be the only one who noticed the deep undercurrent of modern American patriotism in the Dark Knight Rises, but I seem to be unable to hold my tongue - so to speak. I wish to be brief.

The Batman is a symbol, he was always saying so in the now-famous trilogy. He was something to fear, but that same something is a protective entity. Something no one really understands, and the fear caused something unexpected for our hero: opposition. From the very people he was trying to protect.

There is a moral code. I believe in a global moral compas by which people all over the world, when they are honest, can sit down, quiet their mind and heart, can understand this: "Good and bad exist and as created humans we should all know the difference."

There are plenty of people who think they know what that code is, but I see too many people defending what they think is "right" or "fair" much more than they are defending what is inherently moral. I think that democrats have this sentiment down to a T -  though in their case I have heard more calls to INaction, than to action. There is also the plausible pov that the republicans have their trigger-finger a little to tightly wound, but in any case, or in this case at least, I will keep it uni-partisan, if I may.

There are internationally recognized objections to the way the United States of America handles affairs in relation to the rest of the world. I have come to the conclusion that just as Batman is a symbol for "cleaning up" the morally corrupt community, and actively does away with the purely cold-blooded, America, too, is that "hero." Not only unsung, but willing to take the flack, even the blame, for the biggest and most violent issues surrounding (not politics, not a country) humanity. As long as there is a moral watchdog, a defender of the poor, someone standing up for our ingrained moral code.

Loyal, unyeilding, not caring if those he helps "agree" with him or not, America is like the world's big brother. Remember, siblings, who always got the brunt of the punishment in your family? The blame? Remember how sometimes it was indeed Little Brother who "did it," but you kept your mouth shut?

I don't pretend to compare America to God, but in this case, the lighting on this scene, the shadows in the corners, that particular spotlight, appears similar to another scene, 2000 years ago...

The Up-Side to Missions

I once read that mission work was one of the most priviledged life-styles you could imagine. As a missionary of 1 year and-a-half (as of July 1st), it's getting to that point where it rings true. When I was home I was giving. Not tooting my horn, just stating facts. I'd serve, I'd love, I'd give, I'd sacrifice time, for love! I loved doing it, and if I were still home, I'd still be alive and well in these departments.

There was always that ability in me, though, to become selfish whenever I wanted. Sometimes I would put my things first, or the things I wanted to do or have first, before the needs of those around me.

The priviledges are many, but the real up-side turns out to be this: forgetting yourself.

Even here, things go wrong and you get crabby - you don't turn into a superhuman. Even here, you can think selfishly. When you want to act selfishly, jeez, it's a whole 'nother ball game.

Now, some of you might say, "Well that sounds just awful!" But remember how fulfilling it is for you to do whatever the heck it is you want, or to have whatever you need... you always want to do it again, or think you need more. When you forget yourself, you don't so much need or want stuff as much.

On a side note, if you do have a day off where you can do whatever the heck you want - like me - use your time wisely: go see The Dark Knight Rises and then the new Spiderman movie in succession.

Dealing with Stress on the Mission Field

Little do folks suspect, the mission field can be quite trying. Indeed it is not all laughing children on your knee, a vaccination here and there, and some singing thrown in like the Sound of Music. Sometimes there are moments where the stress-o-meter hits a certain pitch, your heart beats a little faster with every glance at that "to-do list," and the lovely people vying for your attention threaten to illicit from you the opposite response than the one of grace, patience and utmost Christ-like kindness.

I have found that there are several ways to deal with what I like to call "Mission Anxiety."  I have found certain methods to be especially effective and have taken the liberty to outline them for perusal, and if you are a missionary - or even if you're not - for your own benefit, here below:

Steps to take when under the effects of "Mission Anxiety" (symptoms include but are not limited to: forgetting to put gel in your hair - every day, reading a novel, getting in the shower with your shoes still on, working on a project that you've already completed, losing your pen on a frequent and regular basis even though you put a large label with your name on it, forgetting to purchase soap, involving yourself in humiliating commentary that displays your absence of mind, among others):

1. Always let people know when you've become a hot mess so that they can pray for you.

2. Never make rash or quick decisions as these inevitably will come from some misunderstanding since you are stressed and your brain does not function at full capacity.

3. Do not pray that God will intervene when you know you're about to say or do something dumb, He has a sense of humor and wants to watch. Pretty sure He has a constantly hot-and-buttery bowl of popcorn for these moments.

4. Always have a fresh pot of coffee ready for consumption in 10 minutes or less. Any longer and hyperventilation tends to set in.

5. Finally, don't pretend you can do it by yourself.  When you do, that's another God-reaches-for-the-popcorn moment.  Y` need God as much as you need other folks to help.

This time around (a visit home)

After more than a weeks' absence from my job at Living Hope International, I see now that there is so much going on in this world.  Unfortunately, and to no fault of the ministry, my line of work creates a sort of isolation that is not ideal for a woman of my personality. I love my ministry, I enjoy my girls, and I am even excited about the experience offered to me by the areas of ministry that God has placed me in. But there is always a quiet little voice in my heart...

My dream, when I am home, is renewed. I feel the tug on my being, the pull on my heart to begin working toward that dream. Briefly put, I want to change the world. I want to literally go international with what God is doing, His hand, His work, His glory. I'm tired of Him being ignored, His credit being wasted on politicians, and His work and His people being unreported or underappreciated. I will need your prayers...

****

The effects of seeing friends, and "catching up" is hard. There is little I can do to try and keep up with it all since not only do people change, but there are new people invading each time I visit. I meet more strangers with each visit and wonder if we might have been good friends if I were to stay on.

I spent a good amount of time with my family, they all seem to be doing relatively well - relative to how they may have been doing a month ago. I love them all dearly.  A popular topic among them, especially Grandma, was my "love life," for lack of a better term. Granny's questions and theories as to why I continue to choose to be single and not date is that I'm afraid of men. I assured her this was not the case, that I had taken Tai Kwon Do and know the basic maneuvers well enough.

The weddings that are being planned are allegedly weakening my resolve - according to my mom. She says that because there will be three consecutive weddings in which I am a bride's maid, that it's making me think about it. I admit, I began briefly to think of my own wedding and even considered calling the zoo to find out how much they'd charge to rent the elephants, but I decided to hold off.

The time that I spend with friends, I have to say, is HIGHLY enjoyable. I can't appreciate them enough, love them enough, or tell them how wonderful they are enough. I try to refrain because then I start to sound like a crazy person. The folks that are in my life are priceless brothers and sisters in Christ. How meaningful it is to know that they support me in life, in prayer, in ministry, in every way. And how fun is it to come home to find that they still want to barbecue, grab a bite, sit on a dock, go swimming at midnight, and simply spend time together in fellowship and foolishness.

This visit was lovely, and I look forward to the next with such anticipation of memories to be created, and love to be spread about like wildflowers.

Full, Empty, Full

I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it. It turns out that being empty is the best way to live fully. I began this journey with Living Hope International full of ideas, full of a lot of reasons, and full of a lot of good-will. As with most things, the mind and heart decieve. I arrived and my ideas were undeveloped, my reasons unrealistic, and my good-will was - and is - continually tested.

Sometimes I have these profound experiences, fleeting thoughts with this deep sense of "that's a person." Nine girls. Several co-servants. Four bosses. Students. Children. Teachers. Adults from every imaginable background. Different doctrines. Varying opinions. Shallow people. People who feel deeply. Loving people. Proud people. Hard people. Every day.

To anyone considering full-time missionary work, or even just dealing with low-key life, and seeking advice, I'd say, "Empty the trash."  Dealing with people in "real life" is hard enough. Dealing with incredibly messy people from whom you have no escape on a daily basis, that's called voluntary emotional maltreatment. There are two seperate and distinct "Christian" ways to deal with this phenomenon:

1) Not say anything and believe yourself to be the most humble, patient, and saintly person ever to breathe this world's air, thus developing the lovely characteristics of being pompous, pious, and proud.

2) Empty the trash.

By that I mean, give it to God. I'm slowly arriving to the absolute truth that once offered to God, our desires, anger, resentment, impatience, boredom, this act of "emptying" ourselves out to God will end with a sense of completeness, fullness, freedom, even joy (sufficiently considered, this is a very potent word).

The common argument is that "we're only human."

As Christians we're more than conquerers. As Christians we're called to be more. We are expected - even by the secular onlookers - to live above reproach (to have nothing to accuse us of). Why? It doesn't seem fair. After all, we're only human. Or are we?

Phillipians 2:5,12
"In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus...  for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose."

It's not fair. It's not fair that God had to die for my sick and twisted side - both of them. It's not fair that the majority of this world dies for the hardness of their hearts. It's not fair that even when life is offered, it is in the same moment rejected. It's not fair that God, the very source of love, is the least loved Being that can be found within and without the realm of time.

Once we say "yes" to Christ the question is no longer about "fair." The question is whether making room for God, by emptying the trash and letting Him govern your soul, your desires, your life, is the only way to fill yourself with life-giving purpose.

To be clear, that feeling, that frustrating sensation that you could be more, do more, that you should try something new so that maybe this feeling will go away, the sense even in the happiest person of boredom with life is still there. Even if it is only felt in secret, if you never admit that you feel that something is missing, that there's more... It's there. Lurking.

I've concluded that feeling never goes away.

Even when you meet Him, even when you know Him, even when you pursue Him with every part of your being. It NEVER GOES AWAY.

Why? Why does this life still lack so much?

Because this is not home. We were created for something more, but we ruined it. Now our only recourse is to hope. Believing that God will make us whole in the end. Entering into His throne room will not bring fear and trembling so much as awe and the fully realized sense of FILLED.

There will be nothing left to attain, no ambition, no competition, no temptation, no sorrow. Only fullness. In every sense. Nothing will be left out. We will not arrive and say, "But what about ___?" All things will be revealed, especially our vain pursuits to try to fill ourselves with God-knows-what.

Arriving Home, the emptiest soul is the one that I believe will have less to lament. The one that is full of those things that we stored up in our hearts, for many it will likely be pride: "But look how I behaved in X situation, it was highly Christ-like of me, no?" "I was so patient with person A, I bet that will get me a big ol´ crown in Heaven."

Check yourself. Empty the trash. It's the only way to fully live, now and forever.

Men with Guns, Soldiers with Fire

This is a post-post. One of those I didn't talk much about beforehand so as not to frighten my mother to death. I made it out of Mexico City alive and unsequestered. Indeed I love that city with an unhealthy sort of admiration for it's bigness, diversity, and deep social and psychological scars. I somehow grow used to seeing men with big guns, though the reason that they have them is a little unnerving. I'm talking about your run-of-the-mill donut-dunking police man, he carries a gun that looks like it belongs in the Russion Revolution.
I signed up for a conference because Aurora asked me to. Basically this dude from the U.S., Jacob Bock, decided to be a missionary in Spain and started something he calls "On the Red Box." It's a very literal name, the participants in this ministry stand on a red box. Not too poetic, but I can say that there is a huge difference between the street preachers I've encountered in my life, and even on this particular trip, for we are not the only ones concerned with the condition of the Federal District of Mexico.

I'll give a little back-story. I'm not sure how some of my long-time friends will take this because our street ministry methods were EXTREMELY different in the States. No matter. My experience is my own, and the point of this blog is to share it.

Three weeks previous I was taking my leisurely day off. I usually go to a Starbucks (see my Starbucks to the right) or a KrispyKreme since I can.  On one of these days, I had a hankering for pizza so I went to a kind of mall where I knew they had fab pizza-by-the-slice and sat down. I had the distinct feeling, sitting there in the food court, that I should stand up and warn everyone there of our coming Savior, offer hope.  The next day off, I was on the bus on my way to the young-adults group and the same overwhelming sense that I should stand up and preach came flooding into my being. Neither of those times did I do anything, and both times I sat and wondered afterward, very harshly asking myself, "Why don't I love?"

The reality is that I must love to some degree or this wouldn't concern me so much, and the girls in my dorm would testify to too many hugs sometimes. Indeed, one of the incidents was followed by the verse screaming in my brain, "If you love Me, feed my sheep!" And I thought of my girls at home.

So when Aurora invited me to this conference I said yes not really knowing what it was about. When I realized what the ministry was I sort of laughed to myself and enjoyed God's joke.  And I went, and I learned a lot, and we discovered the difference between some street preachers, and these street preachers.

It is pretty well-known that street preachers in the U.S. can be jerks. I've seen it and it fills me with sorrow.

I just want you to take a look at this photo, although I plagerized and downloaded this arial view of the Zocalo in Mexico City, I want you to observe the difference between the two circled areas:

I chose to use this photo as the example because it shows almost exactly what it looked like while we were sharing Jesus, and offering hope through one of the hardest decisions a sinner has to make.  The other group was cold, formal, using run-on sentences with words even I don't know exactly what they meant. No one paid them any attention.

We didn't do anything spectacular, we didn't trick people into coming over to us with clowns or gimmicks. 10 people, one after another stood up on this red box and told them what Christ had done for them. Then just one person stood up on the red box to tell them what the heck: Heaven and Hell/The Law/The Cross. Period. Less than 8 minutes, to the point, and I could see the people with hunger in their faces, wanting to know more. The other part of this strategy is to START A CONVERSATION. One on one.

People are never too busy to tell you what they think. That's where we begin. "I have a question, do you think a lot of people go to Heaven or just a few? And why?" Not "What is your philosophical position on Heaven and Hell?" Not "Do you know your a sinner?" Rather an open ended question that allows them to express what they admit soon enough that they never really think about.

I admit I get a little zealous about doing this sort of thing. It seems very John-the-Baptist who preached in a wilderness. This world is a dry barren wilderness of souls, and I like to bring fresh rain. We prayed with well over a hundred people and provided them with solid churches to attend.

I admit it made me yearn to start afresh in the States. I know that people are agressive and that God isn't really received with much grace among my own people, but that only makes it more tempting to try and break the ice that covers their hearts.

What I Love Best

Move it

Motivation > The condition of being motivated.

Motivate > Something, as a need or desire, that causes a person to act.

Origin > From Latin motus, past participle of movēre to move.

 

I've been inspired recently, the motivation part is making it's snug way into my heart, but for now inspiration is dominant. This is dangerous because although I have been known to be an action-taker, these days my resolution is rooted just a bit deeper in habit, routine....

 

Which reminds me of Screwtape's observations:

 

Man can be thought of as a series of concentric circles, his will being the innermost, his intellect coming next, and finally his fantasy. It feels as if something is shoving all the virtues outward till they are finally located in the circle of fantasy, and all the unvirtuous qualities inward into the Will. It is only in so far as they reach the Will and are there embodied in habits that his virtues are really of value to man or to God. This not being what we mistake for our will - the conscious fume and fret of resolutions and clenched teeth - but the real center, what the Bible calls the Heart. [Paraphrased]

My greatest fear has always been the same thing: comfort and complacency, which would innvitably lead to apathy.

I am still inspired, and I work daily to work to bring this inspiration under dominance and reel it in to the intellect, and finally to the will, which is who you know me to be.

I suppose you may want to know what I'm inspired about. It's hard to explain, but let's just say I'm feeling my innards start to revolve around in my soul and soon they may explode into something useful. In the meantime, my goal is to be present where I am.

What a Missionary does: the inside story

I know that my information gets existential and that I can ramble on about whatever book I'm reading or whatever spiritual battle I've won or lost, but I think it's time you know the nitty-gritty.  What is it that I deal with on a daily basis?  Adolesence at it's height, magnified and multiplied by a hundred, and demands that I exaggerate in my head, but nontheless are quite demanding.

I live in a dorm room with nine girls ages 11-15.  This is not the ideal living situation for ANY young single woman trying to make herself known, write a book or two, get at least one measly story published anywhere, work on her skills as a photographer, find herself a man, AND never really quite getting around to doing those things because she has to figure out why a girl's period is awry, or someone's sick or needs to study.

Aside from all that I work in multimedia and audio/visual departments for Living Hope International, a non- profit in Puebla, Mexico that is really the big-wig name they put to gosh-darn successful orphanage that runs like an oiled machine, thanks to the fine folks who give their lives to such an endeavor.

My role seems to be diminishing in importance, though others around here would insist otherwise. Let's talk about what the heck "multimedia" is anyway. I'll tell you, I still haven't figured it out, but there is such a thing as social networking - not the kind we used to do at the chairman's cocktail parties, but the same breed of networking that our high schoolers are doing to scare up a date for Friday nights' bowling bonanza.

On top of that I write, and then re-write, and have other people step in and re-write it again just in case I might have mis-spelled "organisation." As if that would happen.

Then I am a photographer.  The greatest trial of a missionary, or anyone who serves the Lord, or just breathes air for that matter, is the mundane.  I am the toilet-scrubber of all photographers, and creativity, art, and expression is substituted for a word that I have grown to both embrace and develop a certain distaste for: "concept." Oh, this is the first word you'd hear in a marketing meeting, so it's logical it would come up in the same discussions for a bi-monthly newsletter, but that's not the point.

I can deliver!  I don't disenjoy the execution of such duties, and thank God that I have this opportunity to try to squeeze in some of that creativity and expression in these works of missional art.  I admit my pride likes to squeak in and I get a little huffy on the inside because sometimes the concept wasn't "my" idea.  A lot like being in an assembly line, painting the toy airplane a beautiful red even though you wanted it to be electric blue because it's "more to your taste."

In this same vein I also edit video content, though I will say in this I'm a general novice, though I have great potential.  I realize I'm tooting my own horn, but in a way not really - I only repeat what I've heard on the street.

Then, and this is the great majority of who I am on this field, I am a mother. Not the lucky biological kind who got to have a little fun on the way before she earned the right to the title "Mom." Rather I'm the kind that decided out of the kindness of her heart, or out of selflessness (later to be dubbed "insanity"), or some-such thing to take care of some girls who would otherwise be sifting trash or worse. 

Pretty sure I have those same momma bear instincts, and goodness knows that a 13 year-old is going to get picked on just for the sole unvirtuous fact that she is loud, flirts, slams doors, and generally defies authority.  Poor things. 

But in fact this internal "stereotype" they've been labeled with is strikingly accurate, and my above sentiment quite sincere.  Daily they help me remember what a confusing time adolescence was, and how emotions are all over the place, and how much make-up or a braid could cheer me up.

This is my life, this is an outline, a very sterile outline of what I do with my time, with my life, and with my heart.

The Death of Me

I have now come to the conclusion that there is a battle for my soul.  Okay, that conclusion was drawn a long time ago, but this time I've identified the overwhelming strategy of my foe: Nostalgia....

This post feels like a repeat from somewhere, but I cannot tell you how much I ACHE to be home, to go to church four times a week because I like to go to my church, and then with my parents because they take me out for lunch afterwards, and then to my small group and house church.  Driving the same old freeways, lunch with Grandma and Grandpa, shopping at Ikea with Mom, hanging out with Melissa, Kia or Jamie on a sunny Saturday afternoon.... Stillwater. I just want to see Stillwater one more time. Cliff-jumping, fireworks, swimming in a lake, tubing down a river, grilling a galdarn hotdog on the grill.

These things suffocate me if I let them!

An update for you is that I plan to be home in June for a week.  One measly week, but I'm going to try and fit all of the above in that solitary week for "old times' sake."  Maybe I'll have to skip the fireworks, but I'm checking.

Life here has become more challenging as you may have noted from my above rant. I enjoy the girls more than anything or anyone. They've become the rocks in my pocket, they keep my feet on the ground when I go all reminiscent on them. 

The details of life with my girls are hard to go into, just because of the roughness of some of the girls' backgrounds it's difficult to explain why they can be here for such a long time, or any period of time, and still have their heavy issues. I can only think of one reason:  bondage. Same reason you can't stop those thoughts, that secret sin, gossipping, back-biting, or even plain old conflict-mongering. Bondage.

Heavy word for such a silly thing as gossip, or what the ladies like to call "just chatting." Can't separate the two though.

I will let you know that it doesn't look like Cruza will pass the fourth grade - again. This is one of the heaviest things on my heart, but we are looking into vocational alternatives for her since she will soon turn sixteen.  Mireya's emotional roller-coaster seems to have down-graded to a kiddie ride. My three Guadalupes are all on the up and up in school! Roberta has to work hard to get a bad grade, and Itzel is working out her transitional adolescent kinks. Grecia's the class-clown and likes to get a lot of laughs out of just about anyone. Esmeralda is the same maternally instinctive one with the occasional leak of adolescence.

We, the girls and I, began a study together of 1 Samuel. Chapter by chapter, everyday they write a reflection on what they've read and we sit down to talk about any questions they might have. Some of them are real "thinkers" and others I'm sure they must already have the answers, but they want to provoke discussion so I suppose it's legitimate.

All in all, if I am able to pray off the nostalgia, focus on my girls and my work, seek God with all that I am, I'm good. Okay. Cucumber-like.  If I don't do these things, well, I haven't yet tried to not do them. I suspect I'd end up home in a heap, well before my time.

Keep me in your prayers!

Sqeaky Clean (or the How to be Holy note)

This note is going to get personal, but I believe in testimonies, I believe that a Christian only reports his (or her) horrible past, or horrible self-seeking ways, or horrible inner-self in order to boast in Jesus all that He has overcome! This is a difficult one to write, but I have come a long way to turn back now. Besides, if I keep this in the shadows I'm only giving satisfaction to the enemy! So, in your face, enemy.

The process of being set free:

• Step 1: Be in bondage.

Check. No matter who you are; check.

John 8:34 "Jesus answered them, “Most assuredly, I say to you, whoever commits sin is a slave of sin."

• Step 2: Realize you're in bondage.

This step is a little trickier, especially for Christians who love Jesus, are led by the Holy Spirit, and live their lives according to the word. There are roots, embedded deep down in our souls.

Romans 6:16 "Do you not know that to whom you present yourselves slaves to obey, you are that one’s slaves whom you obey?"

In my case I was harboring shame (and I didn't know it) for all the the sexual or sensual things that had happened to me or that I committed in my past. I was also harboring bitterness toward those who caused or participated in these acts, which translated means I was blaming them and shaming myself.

• Step 3: What to do about it.

I took a week, once these things were revealed to me. I took a week to figure out what to do, what steps to take because I believe God never works the same way twice.

Judges 6:18 "Do not depart from here, I pray, until I come to You and bring out my offering and set it before You.” And He said, “I will wait until you come back."

• Step 4: Be ready for Him to expose you even more.

Ephesians 5:13 "But all things that are exposed are made manifest by the light."

As I prayed that He would be so kind as to give me a heart of repentance and forgiveness, and if I should go about contacting people to ask for forgiveness and apologize - in the name of Jesus - I realized that I was remedying the symptoms. The roots were being yanked around a bit, but it was time to pull them up. This is when I saw it.

I was playing the victim, the hurt one, the accosted. I was playing God when I said, "Thank you, Lord, for dying for me and allowing me to go to Heaven when this is all over, but for now I'm just going to scrub up the table and chairs so that we can have our relationship over coffee. Nevermind that closed door over there, I never even go in there so I don't even know what's there!"

2 Peter 2:19 "While they promise them liberty, they themselves are slaves of corruption; for by whom a person is overcome, by him also he is brought into bondage."

I always said I was "broken" because it was difficult for me to open up my heart. The roots of my bitterness were actually saying, "I don't deserve love and neither do they."

This is BLASPHEMY! I was contradicting everything the Bible says about grace, and mercy, and love, and purity, and the resurrection. In effect, I wasn't the devil's advocate, I was the devil. Or, at the very least I had convinced myself that the devil was right, NOT GOD.

He got up from the coffee table and waited expectantly by the closed door I had refused to open. I stared. WHY would you ask me to open those wounds? Because they're no longer just wounds, they're gods.

• Step 5: Once you've opened the door, TALK to Him about it.

I began to pray, to confess, to let it all out as it were. I told Him all the foul things I had become, though I was living right, and all the ways I had been my own personal Lucifer and not allowed anyone in, and even placing boundaries for Him in my heart. "No Lord, this hurt is mine." I talked until I felt I had said it all, and then I talked some more.

• Step 6: Just telling Him what you did doesn't make it better; repent!

This is where He got out the broom and Lysol. He was poised and ready as I went into that room. I had to touch the gross, I remembered the grilled cheese sandwich under the bed from 2003, all the gory details of my sin surfaced. This was important for me, it was important not so that I could dwell on my shame. Not this time, this time I was looking at my past sins WITH God. I wasn't looking at it as something to bury and forget, to be ashamed of. I picked up each event, each relationship, each action and I handed it over to Him. "Lord I'm sorry I hurt you, that I tried to take your place. You died for me, that these didn't have to be a part of me anymore. The shame of these sins is not mine to hold on to or to bury. I'm taking the bitterness and the shame off the throne of my heart, to give to You."

I think it's important to note that when I gave my life to Christ I already asked for forgiveness and He granted that to me. Because I repent doesn't mean that I didn't have salvation to begin with, it means that I am wrong and I need to admit it and stop doing what it is I'm doing.

• Step 7: Declare victory!

Soon after I realized, confessed, and repented, my prayer started sounding different. And suddenly I felt the need to say these things out loud. God is the only omnipotent, so I decided to declare it to the Heavens and to Hades. "I'm am free, in the name of Jesus! By His blood I am released from these chains!"

• Step 8: Glory is due. Give it to Him

When this moment, literally a little less than an hour, was over I caught a glimpse of what God saw. I was standing before Him in a beautiful white gown, and it was just a flash, just a moment, and maybe until you experience purity before God this means nothing. For me I was just beginning. I thanked Him, praised Him, declared my love for Him. "Oh God, I love you!" He is amazing, and there is nothing I could do to try to clean out my own dark rooms, only He has incinerating power to rid us of even the most deepset stains forever.

• Step 8: It's not a one-time deal. Live a life of repentance!

Galatians 5:1 "Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage."

It's like keeping the bedroom clean. We are stuck in these bodies until Life comes, and until that day we will be struggling with ourselves, our flesh, indwelling sin, "it is not me, it's the sin that lives in me," until death do us part. Is it hopeless then?

Hebrews 3:14 "For we have become partakers of Christ if we hold the beginning of our confidence steadfast to the end."

The beginning of our confidence = faith in purity, in grace, in sanctification by the blood of Christ. We become partakers of Christ = He gives us more of Him, and if you didn't know all of your discontent in this world - for a car, a husband/wife, a good job, a great ministry - stems from one thing: the desire to fulfill our purpose. The problem is some people forget that our divine purpose is to cleave to Him. Period.

Holy Wrath

When someone sins, someone who knows better, who has been taught, who supposedly loves the Lord, and it makes you go crazy with the urge to hunt them down and punch them in the face for their general unremorsefulness, is that okay?

I've been looking for verses that say it's okay to punch someone in the face, but it appears that the Word was written infururatingly to make us peacemakers:

Psalm 37:8 "Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret—it leads only to evil."

Exodus 34:6 "...The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness."

And of course, we can't forget good ol' Romans 12:19 "Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord."

So, then I guess my prayers will be for a solid punch in the face from God, who is wrathful and just.

Pleats and Puddles Cliffhanger

I realize I left some of you in the dark about the pleats and the puddles of dust. This was not an entire blog's worth of story-telling, but I will say that as I was running around trying to get lost and not sweat I discovered that there is one great joy to American public schools: FASHION.

Here, you've got your prep and high school uniforms swimming the streets like they were going out of style. I've got NEWS for you, Mexico! They've BEEN outta style, you got me?! Or maybe they really have an unnatural love of khaki and navy blue that we United Statesians won't understand due to the asymmetrical nature of our culture.

I have to say that while the various shades of navy and khaki, and the size of the plaid patterns vary, pleats are a-plenty. I wonder if it's the pleats. For the sake of the pleat, the uniform will remain. They are everywhere! I sometimes wonder why they don't pleat their backpacks, they're already on the pants, the skirts, the shirts... I wonder if you can pleat a shoe? Probably not, if you could Mexico would have made its teenagers wear them already.

As for the puddles... of dust. I'm amazed each time I hop off my country bus, onto my country road, and make my way toward my country home (anywhere else this would sound so elegant and charming).

As I cross the quiet highway and enter the drive that is to take me to the gate of my country home (again, charming, right?) I realize there is a sudden give-way beneath my country boots (also known as worn All Stars), and a cloud of dust lifts gently off the ground (i.e. gets in my face, blows about for a bit just to make sure it covers my pants and turns my shoes an uncanny tint of khaki - again, with this country and KHAKI).

I continue gaily down the lane with my recent purchases (peanut butter, gouda, the usual) swinging by my side, making a lovely swishing sound as the plastic bag swings back and forth, I realize that the dust phenomenon is not a passing fancy. It's continued to life, to swirl, to blow about, and now to get into the holes in my Converse (I said "worn"), and seep through my Hanes all the way until they reach the in-betweens of my toes. Yes, the in-betweens therein.

After a kilometer of prancing through the dust, and as frustrating as it can be to have to wash my feet and change my socks each time I arrive from a days' outings, I am always thankful for one thing: no rain.

The Police Station, Official Papers, Pleats, and Puddles of Dust

Thanks to a kind and faithful reader - and some recent interesting events - I am inspired to remind the world that I still live. This story is another that I can chalk up to the history of Emily, "Legends of a Mensa" (dum-dum), an ongoing saga.

To make the short and embarassing story much shorter in order for it to sound less embarassing, I was pick-pocketed on Friday for the first time in my life, yet I did not break a sweat. I was told by all my work authorities, the police, and my lawyer that I simply cannot hesitate to act. Still, I paused, thought it through, weighed my options.

Finally, I took the 1/2 hour van-bus ride to the police station in Cholula, yet was redirected to the station in Puebla - at least another hour away. Still, cool as a cumquat.

I disembark a little less than the aforementioned hour later at the street crossing, 9th and 15th. I look again at the address I had scribbled hastily on an envelop.... 8th and 14th. Which, unfortunately did not mean just a mere couple of blocks away. The streets are ordered odds and evens which in short meant that I was on the OPPOSITE SIDE OF TOWN.

Again, and with only thirty measly pesos jangling in my now sadly sagging purse, tac on an empty rumbling stomach and I still decided to hoof it.

40 minutes later, now plodding much more slowly than when I valiantly decided to walk, now sweating just a LITTLE, yet not from the stress, from the thirty-block hike in the afternoon sun. As I near my destination a young man remarks on my unzipped purse, an umbrella sticking out one end, "You'll get robbed like that you know," he warns. I smile wryly at the irony of his timing.

I took out the umbrella and began to weild it more than to carry it, and zipped my purse - to discourage the attacker who may be tempted by my sagging change purse, the only survivor of value. That, and my hand sanitizer.

Upon arrival, people, as I begin to explain my problem, wave me to various different offices, different people, and finally to run the "quick" errand of getting copies made of my passport. The man told me specifically where, he just left out the part where the faded painted-on-the-side-of-a-wall sign "Copies" was covered up by the taco stand.

6 blocks farther than intended and a sudden hightened awareness of a blister forming of the bottom of my heel brings me back to my destination where I am told to sit and wait. "Thank you," I respond with feeling, thankful even now that the wait lasted for over an hour, though the entire time feeling trepedatious that they would require a fee of thirty pesos and then I'd have to beg for some tacos and hitch hike home.

No fee. I found my cheap cheap tacos, and the Lord even blessed me with the nice man who told me of a somewhat ghetto, and not well-known, but blessedly close bus line that took me home.

All to accomplish what? To get a piece of official-looking paper that says I lost my visa. I still have to go to Immigration to get the actual document. Another day of adventure awaits!



PART TWO
Why pleats?

Why puddles of dust?

To be continued...

Peanut Butter, Well Water, and Bambinos

There are lots of missions that make missionary work seem so wonderful, noble, and romantic. Just do a Google search out there for any mission in any category of your liking, "well digging," "orphans," "charity missions." They all make the work look like FUN. Especially when you get to "get involved" and "do your part."

I am here to tell you, honestly, that mission work is about as much fun as real life. In fact, I might categorize the practice as Real Life on Steroids. It is taking the stuff that you think is tough in your life, all the things you ever struggled with up until today, and multiplying it by a hundred. Suddenly life isn't about YOUR problems.

No one is really listening so much to what I'm going through anymore, or how much I really need my peanut butter fix - I mean really NEED it. Even I forget to check up on me, and after weeks of work, ministry, and practical stuff, I have to get with Jesus to really focus on my emotional condition.

On top of all that I've become a "mommy" to my mission - it's the only thing that comes to mind in conversations anymore: So-and-so's attitude is difficult to deal with these days / I can't get her to put on a sweater / she's struggling in school / in relationships with friends / getting her chores done / she can't forgive her mother / her uncle / person X who hurt her / she seems to be tired all the time / she's sick this week / she likes a boy... The list goes on. I'm a mommy on steroids. Of course the hormone is really the Holy Spirit because I really don't see how EMILY could make any of this better, how she could change the impossible, like the other day...

BREAKTHROUGH! One of my girls, Mireya, has been one of my particularly reserved girls, and used to become very easily upset. She has been opening up lately, obeying more readily, and even said, "I really want to change my attitude, Emily, and I need help." I about fainted from joy, hugged her, and encouraged her to keep deciding to obey and maintain a cheerful heart. She seems happier, she accepts correction without protest, and has even become a better friend to her dorm-mates. It is a small step, but I'm a little closer to understanding what it is for a parent to be overjoyed by the little triumphs.

Several of them have become almost enthusiastic about devotionals, and ask "what time" it will be, and they bring their notebooks so they can write down the stuff that impacts them. We talked about the Holy Spirit the other day, and they asked SO MANY questions!

These are the moments that make the hard stuff pale in comparison. These are the events that I will look back on and remember with a smile spread over my heart. This is the stuff missions is made of. If you're looking for romance or adventure, go back home. If you're looking for life and life abundant, well then, stick it out a while. Taste and see that the Lord is good.

20 Hard Ways (because there are no easy ones) to Change the World

The allegories here are of the Knights of the Order of St. John (circa, the Middle Ages). The Knights, interestingly enough, were all of noble blood. I am ashamed to say that I read about them for the first time just this week. I had not heard of them before, and considering how much I read, my library is either shamefully under stocked, I am ignorant, or the world has done its very best to hush the fact that the only Christians not directly involved in the heinous crusades are also the Christians responsible for inventing the hospital, and incidentally for saving the world from tyrannical Islamic rule.

Principle #1: Heap Coals on their heads

The Knights of the Order of St. John were devoted first and foremost to the sick and wounded, and as their post was in Jerusalem during the height of the crusades, they treated just such men from either side of the “holy” war.

They never gave an inch of ground during an attack, but their methods were merciful.

Principle #2: Make yourself a nuisance

They fought in dangerous and Turk-infested seas surrounding the province of Rhodes, thus preventing their enemy from creating a comparable naval power in order to overcome the Knights.

Principle #3: Don’t waste His time

The Knights also wasted no time fortifying their headquarters, the heart of their strength lay in Rhodes. In their first battle 600 Knights faced 70,000 Islamic warriors, yet the French leader d’Aubusson refused to yield even in the face of sure defeat. He had used the time to prepare.

Principle #4: Expect crap in your backyard

Spies had made their way into the city and successfully undermined the Knights strategy. There was pressure from within (spies) and without (attacks). Failure all about them, and they refused to budge. To the death.

Principle #5: When you’re falling, keep standing up

The Janissaries closed in and it appeared they would finally gain victory. The Grand Master of the Order, D’Aubusson was wounded in several places and had an arrow in his thigh as he was held up by his fellow Knights upon the rubble. In their gleaming armor, standing aside the banners of the Order, they appeared to the Turks to be gods. The Turks were suddenly terror-stricken, and the fear spread like wildfire. They fled the Island.

Principle #6: Even in peacetime, focus on the “W”

Their focus was not on winning the battle, no matter how spectacular, they still resolved to continue in their campaign to win the war.

They did not attribute much importance to their new renown, known as the “saviors of the continent.” They still knew the cowardice of Europe, and still kept their vows to stand against the enemies of Christ.

The leader, d’Aubusson died, but his vision and leadership insured the fortress would become even stronger than it had before the first siege.

Principle #7: You will meet your match

The Sultan Mehmet whose first attacked failed – as a result of prayer – left the throne to the new tyrannical power the Ottoman Empire, Suleiman “The Magnificent.” And in the far corner stood the successor of d’Aubusson, the Grand Master of the Order, l’Isle Adam. Both men educated, both highly trained in the ways of war, both strategically brilliant.

Principle #8: Sure, accept help, but don’t expect it

The Sultan’s timing was strategic, no one would help because the Church was too busy tearing itself apart. He sent 700 ships and 200,000 men to attack 500 knights and around 1,500 militiamen.

Principle #9: Stick to your guns

Major setbacks during this battle – the Turks setting their standards on the fortress wall, a major morale crusher – did not discourage them. Instead, it heightened their determination and they were rewarded for their sweat with a Turkish retreat.

Though they had expected defeat, they determined to die rather than to surrender. Their determination paid off.

Principle #10: Humility is not the same as humiliation

The Sultan surrendered and then offered amnesty and a favor – taking them off the island. Recognizing their weakness, and the opportunity to be able to regain strength and fight another day, they accepted. They were offered the island of Malta, and though the blessing came in the form of a relatively inhospitable chunk of land, they accepted.

Principle #11: Don’t go to sleep

They immediately started turning the sheep pastures into a stronghold that would eventually save Europe, and by extension, the whole world.

They also continued to make themselves a nuisance to the Sultan. L’Isle died, and Jean Parissot de la Valette became Grand Master of the Order.

Just when it seemed the Sultan had begun his campaign to take over the world, the Knights had drawn enough attention to themselves for their raiding, pirate work, and general looting of the Sultans supplies.

Yet the Sultan knew that they could not be defeated without great cost.

Principle #12: The same ol’ grit as before

Internal struggles within the church raged on all sides, rendering their allies completely useless to the knights, but they did not lose focus on the enemy.

Principle #13: Blessings like to wear disguises

This time, the knights were spread out over several forts and cities. The Grand Master was able to create the best possible strategy from what appeared to be an unfavorable situation, and in the end was exactly what led to their victory.

Principle #14: Redeem your shame

Fort St. Elmo became the first point of concentrated attack, and before imminent defeat, a few knights broke away from the fighting to tell Grand Master La Valette. La Valette became angry that they left their posts, and rather than send them back would send other knights in their place. Recognizing their shame before their leader, they begged to return to St. Elmo, and to their death.

They returned to where Dragut was pouring fire in from three sides and would not desist for three weeks.

Principle #15: Let the enemy’s pride be his fall

Then the Turks sent their best Janissaries to attack, yet they were pushed back, suffering heavy casualties. So Dragut set up another bombardment with every battery that he had, and attacked again the next day. When the dust cleared, the cross of St. John still flew above the ruins.

This small fort with a few men sorely wounded the Sultans army. General Pasha realized his mistake: they had spent their best men on a small fort when the larger, looming St. Angelo lay ahead.

Principle #16: Draw the line somewhere

The Turks decapitated the dead knights, bound them to crosses and floated them out to harbor before the fort. No terms for peace this time.

Principle #17: There will be no weak points

Pasha was smart, and seeking a breach he found it, but he was still defeated by the Knights. The endurance and tenacity of the Order had been underestimated.

Principle #18: Believe in miracles

The knights had been severely reduced in number when Pasha released his final attack, and it seemed doom was impending. The remaining Knights were worn thin, and braced themselves for the final swoop, when the Turkish trumpet sounded for retreat.

A small group of cavalrymen had attacked the Ottoman base camp. The Turks, confused and miscalculating their numbers because of the amount of damage they caused, had pulled every man back from St. Angelo.

Principle #19: Things will eventually pile up in your favor

Don Garcia of Sicily sent a dispatch letting La Valette know he would send troops. La Valette had heard many empty promises before, and simply vowed to fight to the death.

A mine surprised the Knights from below the fort, a breach was made by tunneling underneath and planting the mine. This did not alter the Knights’ tenacity and the Turks were still beaten back. Confidence was shaken.

Dissention arose among Turkish ranks – what was supposed to be a battle of a few days had stretched over several months. Their morale waned, and trust in their leadership was beginning to dissipate.

Then Don Garcia’s promised fleet arrived – only half the promised troops, but since the Turks had by then only captured “tiny” St. Elmo, they weighed their options and left the island.

Principle #20: Never take your eye off the target

While the Christian nations’ armies were fighting among each other, the Knights of the Order of St. John never lost sight of the real enemy.

∞

Some fun details:
1) The Sultan Suleiman had split the command three ways. There was disagreement between them on more than one point.
2) De Valette had the crops harvested and the wells poisoned to cut off supply to the enemy.
3) De Valette expected them to arrive at St. Elmo all the time, and had strategically placed many more Knights there than the small fort afforded.
4) Dragut reportedly died from a cannon shot – from the Turkish side – during the first phases of the attack on St. Angelo.
5) Fort St. Michael and Fort St. Elmo were both constructed within a short six-month period after Dragut’s first attack, the result of mere frustration because of the Knight’s raiding ships and supplies.

DayDreaming about RealLife

I have been thinking lately about my past… sort of re-living it in a way. I think of the good times, the bad, the good, the ugly, the wonderful, the horrendous… Mostly it comes in spurts, without dwelling on it it all just turns up in my head. Stuff about my travels, reveling in my adventures, the great times I used to spend looking for – and finding – great times. Mostly though, I think of it in terms of bravery. I used to be braver – more brave.

I was telling Gabby about the one time we got some hippies to lend us their tent so we could sleep on a practically deserted island. I reminisced about Buenos Aires and the time I disastrously tried to join an acting class while I was there. I thought of the time a friend and I got in a van with a pretty random bunch around midnight to go to the top of a mountain where they were night-rafting on level 4 rapids. I remembered chawing coca leaves for the energy I needed to get through Day-Three of the mountainous hike to Macchu Pichu. I recall the wondrous group of people I met in Mendoza – from Ireland, Enlgand, D.C., Argentina… I dwelt a bit on the parts I felt more “Christian” – Cuba, Chile, Mexico.

Only in the past couple of days I’ve been dealing with my secret yet brief indulgences in feelings of insecurity. I told Gabby how I felt and I guess since she has a man now she doesn’t feel so bad when people overlook her, but I still revert to listening to the devil’s lies about how there must be something wrong with me because I’m usually last or not on the guest-list to anywhere. I usually face facts and realize, “Yes, it’s true, but there’s gotta be a reason – God knows.”

From emotional to practical news, the girls were turning out to be a bunch of unruly ragamuffins and I realized that I needed to be stricter with them. Good thing! I see how it doesn’t help them to “let things slide.” I wonder if the pendulum didn’t swing too far to the other side of the Grandfather though. I figure once I reestablish who’s the boss, I may let up a bit. For now they must think I was suddenly stricken with a tyrannical fever because they can’t even step foot out of the room if there’s something on the floor or a blanket is slightly rumpled on a bed.

They are all wonderful little pre-pubescent hormonal young flowers. It sounds as though it might be a nightmare – for some I bet it would be – but it only reminds me of when I was “one of those” and I’ll sometimes call up Mom or Dad just to apologize for having been a teenager at one time. I also understand now why my behavior made them laugh sometimes.

On a non-ministerial note, I found my new Dunn Bros. Coffee! Guicho (pronounced “WEE-cho”) and I were talking and I told him about this café I found in Cholula where they roast the coffee fresh everyday and sell whole beans by the kilo. He got excited – he’s my only rival when it comes to love of coffee – and it looks like we’ll probably go with Raul on Friday.

My friendship with Guicho reminds me of the book by C.S. Lewis about the different kinds of love (“Four Loves”) where he talks about friendship being built on common interests. It’s so true! There are only about three topics about which we talk incessantly – coffee being numero uno. We also like to do smart people things like read. It’s nice to have intellectual conversations once in a while.