mewithoutyou

I need pop-punk and I need it now. I need a stiff drink. I need the beach, my bike, and the smell of the sea to fill my lungs and whip through my hair. I need a 4 hour nap and a late night picnic. I need something uncomplicated.

Firsts

I miss firsts. The first glance. The first time your eyes meet and you feel your heart jump into your throat like popcorn on a stove. You want to hold the glance forever, but it only lasts a moment. The first time you kiss and you can feel it in your toes. Your heart races and you can't help but wonder what you'll see if you open your eyes. The first time you see him from across the room and realize you feel safe.

I miss those firsts.

What happened to romance? What happened to persuit? Women deserve to be woed. We deserve to be cherished, loved and taken care of. We deserve to be fought for. We are prizes to be won. And, here is a novel concept men, we will respect you, love you, and respond to you when this happens. God designed it that way. He made us to be counterparts, like puzzle pieces. We are delicate and vulnerable...and by that I mean crazy, sometimes overly emotional, hyper-sensative beings. Men, please understand. We need you to be non-crazy for us. We need you to take care of us sometimes (feminists I don't want to hear it...deep down you know it's true). Sometimes we need you to fight the battles for us, to take charge and make things happen. Sometimes we need someone to pick up the slack. In a world where women can do anything a man can do, which is a total crock by the way, it comes down to this-we need you to rescue us...is there really harm in admitting it?

And for that matter, where have all the men gone. I say down with the metro-sexual. Men should have beards, and drink beer with the guys while watching basketball, and fix their cars on Saturday afternoon (unless they are otherwise woeing aformentioned women). Now I am NOT, I repeat not advocating men who do nothing but watch sports and drink. There is balance in all things fellas. What I am saying is when was it NOT ok for a guy to be a guy? Since when do they need to spend more time on their hair than us ladies do? Who decided that was attractive? I can understand and appreciate a man who is well-groomed and well-dressed. Every now and again a black dress shirt with a red tie is just necessary to the common good...and easy on the eyes (not gonna lie). Sometimes there is need for a great haircut and a shower. But there is something to be said about a man with grease on his shirt and a little sweat on the brow. When there is rescuing to be done, men may need to work up a bit of a sweat.

This was my argument at lunch today...being that I'm the only single one left in the office. I can still hope, dream, and romanticize about what's to come...more firsts, lots of seconds, and God-willing a TON of thirds:)

Waiting with expectation...

Heros and such

Ben Andersen you are my hero! You have saved my ears from bordom. The Brand New Brand New is so delicious I think I might marry it and have it's babies. I'm having trouble getting over it...it's that good. The end.

The blinking...

light on my voicemail screams 'check me...paaalease', yet I do not. I refuse actually. It is 10:46am on Friday, and I will be leaving in 14 minutes. What awaits me is laundry, packing for camp, and shopping for tights.

I realized some things in the last few days. I shall recall them now and make a list of said realizations.

1. Joe Atkinson is the Mini-golf master.
2. Mary needs to move back to Tucson. Food for the Hungry can't have her.
3. I adore gmail chat.
4. I'm excited for thanksgiving for a number of reasons

subreasons:
1.) Who doesn't want to hang out with the Atkinsons and the Grahams for turkey lovin' fun?
2.) Turkey Bowl!
3.) UA football.
4.) I get to see James attempt to stuff a turkey with a roast beef sandwich.
5.) It's a holiday celebrating how thankful we are to have food. FOOD!
6.) Stacey's coming home from Portland...she'll inevitably make me want to move there more than I already do.
7.) No work Friday. Woot!
8.) The fact that Friday will most likely be spent at the movies with Jessica.
9.) Catherine's Mom's stuffing...hello can you say delic.
10.) Being able to sleep ALL weekend.

5. 'Scootering for better health' needs to be made into a shirt.
6. I'm sooo excited about what God is doing in my life. I can't wait to see what happens in the next few months. It fills me heart with glee. Details to follow.

the end...for now.

[...] kind of day

Today is a Mewithoutyou kind of day. Yesterday was a Postal Service kind of day. That's just how it works out I guess.

My nose was cold this morning, which indicated the first signs of winter. I got excited at first, until I remembered that I dislike it greatly when my nose gets cold. It happens quite frequently in the winter as I have my fathers nose, which means it's not what you would call tiny. It's not huge, yet not petite, so it sticks out farther and gets cold more easily. I've come to accept and appreciate my nose.

Bullet to Binary is playing in the background. I'm bittersweet about it because I love watching Aaron Wiese sing, but know that I can't go to the show on Monday because number 1, it's in Phoenix, and number 2, I have Younglife. Jesus brings a ray of sunshine to my life, so I can't complain about having other more important things to do with my time on Monday. I just wish the show weren't on Monday...in Phoenix. My violin in playing I know...

I cannot get over Vedera. They soothe my soul. I can't explain it. I just keep listening to them over and over and over again.

I've come to realize I don't spend enough quality time with my friends, and I miss them. A half hour for coffee every other week just isn't cutting it for me. I need relationship. I need conversation. I need roadtrips and midnight picnics. I need contagious laughter and twinkies. I need pizza and beer. I need cheesy kareoke songs and 2am burrito runs. Now replace need with want. I'm too busy. This must change...sooner rather than later.

This is my day

It's now 5:52pm and I just realized that I've lost my keys somewhere at work...oh wait, they're in a grocery bag in the freezer, which is also filled with 20lbs of hash browns. Welcome to my life.

Fried meat is amazing

Mary is that girl that inspires you to do things. Not by her words, but by her actions. She's this incredibly humble, smart, quarky, beautiful vision of what people should be. I've never met someone who has such a heart for missions and for little African babies. She and I have been in conversation about little African babies for some time now.

We want to go to Africa. Think about coming with us. Pray about it friends.

http://fh.org/build_a_team

Sparkle in your eye

Change is in the air. I can feel it.

Ode to the City of Angels

LAX. The mecca for yuppie businessmen and girls with fake boobs, among other things. Oh LAX, where there is a Starbucks at almost every terminal and beer flows plentifully like water. Everything is overpriced and overrated.

Earlier that day (before the LAX situation) I had driven down to San Clemente to hit up the Rainbow Sandles store, which, by the way, is not open on Sundays. On a side-note, the CA-73 toll road is a JIP!! It cost me $3.75 to drive 18 miles from the 405 to the 5. Supposedly it's faster, but I beg to differ. It's not worth my 3 bucks to drive through the mountains instead of around them. I'm convinced it's a giant conspiracy by the state of California to rob people blind. My suspicions were only enhanced by an article I read later in the OC Weekly about a group raising money to stop California from building toll roads through state parks. HA! I knew it. Here's the article. (http://www.ocweekly.com/news/toll-road-rage/toll-road-rage/25673/)

So, San Clemente is gorgious...FYI. I parked my rental, a brand spankin' new Chevy HHV, dark blue, with only 6 miles on it, in the free downtown parking, the free part being a major bonus. I meandered though the quaint downtown area, passing small family businesses, law offices, realty places, and mom and pop diners and ice cream shops. I strolled along the pier, watching the surfers as they swam out to meet the waves. It had a rhythmic sense to it. Swim out. Catch a wave. Ride it for as long as possible. Repeat until exhausted. There were fathers teaching their sons how to fish over the pier. The sons had smiles on their faces as they gazed longingly at their fathers who, I can imagine, were like heros in that moment. The sun felt like a soft kiss on the cheek, and the wind smelled of fish bait and and salt. I found a bench and settled in to watch the waves crest over and foam just before rushing into the beach, met by squeeling teenagers skim boarding across the water.

I pulled out my Bible and started to read from Ephesians. Paul knew how to stick it to them didn't he. I felt a sense of conviction as I read about being one in love, and how we should cast off any backbiting or mean talk. I'm a woman. I thought that was a prerecquesite for wearing a bra. I looked out at the surfers again. 'I'm not very good at this one', I thought. Darn it.

I nestled my Bible back in my gray messanger bag and began to walk back along the pier toward the beach. I retraced my steps up the hills through town, stopping at a coffee shop for a bagel and italian soda. Bagel plain, toasted with cream cheese-Raspberry Soda topped with delicious whipped cream. I found a spot along the sidewalk at one of the cafes outside patio tables and enjoyed my bagel while reading the OC Weekly. Almost every page was filled with plastic surgery ads and personal chat line ads. Gross. I've never felt so inadequite. I did read that article about tool roads though, illuminating to say the least. I also read about this guy who bought an ice cream truck and travels around to concerts to give out free ice cream. He breaks even by getting corporate sponsorship from ice cream companies. How cool is that! (http://www.ocweekly.com/food/food/we-all-scream-for-ice-cream/25677/)

I'm out like a light.

So what

Sometimes I get lonely. It's odd really, that this would occur in my life, but it's true. It has taken me 25 years to admit to the fact that, on ocassion, I get that feeling in my stomach. The one that feels like I just jumped out a plane and am falling 10,000 feet to my death. Not to be dramatic or anything.

I'm flying home in a few days for my Mom's 50th birthday. Going home reminds me of how weird my family is. Trust me. They take the cake. But I realized something this week that has changed my life. They're mine-no one elses. My family. I have the privilage of having a very...off-kilter family. So what if my Mom rented trailers for her friends and family to stay on while they're in town for the party. So what if my stepdad works at the swap meet on his free time. So what if my grandparents will get a little too excited about the open bar, will then proceed to get tipsy an hour into the party and begin spilling family secrets to us all as loudly as possible. So what. They're my family, and I love them. I love them for every weird thing they do. I wouldn't trade them for any other family. They keep my life interesting.

Can you...

Can you miss someone you never really knew? Can you mourn for someone you only met once? His life was filled with joy, laughter, friendship. He was to be married on Saturday. Now he is seated at the right hand of the Father. I don't know God's plan for this, but I know that my heart hurts for the loved ones he has left behind.

They were both so young. I'm forced to realize how fragile and precious life is-how much we take for granted. We run away from things, hide from the truth, deceive ourselves into thinking we will never get old, die, cease to be, but in the end it happens anyway.

My heart is burdened for the loss. The answer is yes.

Knots

It started in the pit of my stomach. I know I shouldn't have looked. Somehow I knew the feeling would return to me if I looked, but looked I did non-the-less. It's that feeling that you've lost something-something so important-and you can't get it back. It's right there in front of you like a fresh Saturday morning, but you can't reach it.

My heart sinks everytime. I don't want to look, but somehow I'm compelled to. I hate it. I hate that I can't not look. I hate that I even want to look. I hate that my heart sinks. I hate this feeling. I want to punch it in the face like a biker on steroids.

Not at all well thanks

yes please.



This is what we call, my friends, the best imaginary boyfriend...ever.

Obedience means we have to fail

The Worst Missionary Ever
Nathan Acheson
www.relevantmagazine.com

I learned to teach in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Sure, I had been trained (and trained well) the summer before in Pasadena, but I didn’t really learn what it meant to be a teacher until later. Now, as I finish another school year in Karaganda, Kazakhstan, I’ve come to the inevitable conclusion after two years of teaching English as a missionary: I’m the worst missionary ever, and that’s OK.

I went abroad for three reasons (they haven’t changed since my interview with Horace). First, I wanted to be involved in ministry someplace overseas. Second, I wanted to travel, and third, I wanted to teach. Teaching with ESI let me do all those things at the same time. There’s no sneaking around with ESI either—some organizations have all sorts of tricky code-phrases and alternate names overseas in an attempt to stay under hostile radar.

There are lots of good and bad reasons for this, but my point is everyone knew I was a Christian, and I got hired anyway. That’s one of my favorite things about my former organization—the openness. Of course, this openness may be why I wasn’t allowed to return to Uzbekistan in the fall of 2005.

In any case, I’m an openly Christian English teacher overseas. That makes me a missionary, I guess. The definition of missionary is a slippery one and a topic that’s maybe better discussed by people who actually know what they’re talking about. All I know is that I’ve been out here for almost two years now and haven’t done a “typical missionary” thing. I haven’t built a church, held a revival or secured my martyrdom. I haven’t smuggled any Bibles (though that sounds pretty fun). I haven’t translated the Gospel of John into the Karakalpak dialect. I can barely communicate in Russian or Uzbek, let alone share the Gospel. In Tashkent it’s impossible to legally meet and study the Bible with other English speakers, let alone invite my students to discuss the ideas in it. Here in Karaganda, I’m not even sure I moved my students along the continuum of spiritual belief at all. The bottom line—I haven’t saved a single soul.

That makes me a failure, right? I mean, what about my supporters who gave me those thousands of dollars—they want some results, yeah? Was it worth it? Am I good stewardship—or in other words, a worthy investment? What is a successful missionary anyway? What makes ministry successful at all? Changing lives for Jesus? Feeding the hungry? Fighting injustice? I didn’t accomplish any of that. I worked 20 hours a week, attempted to learn the language and missed my girlfriend a lot.

My question is wrong. Missions and ministry cannot be successful because we don’t really know what successful means. God isn’t confined to the definition of success in the dictionary. He sees and knows more than we ever will. All missions and ministry safely rest in His hands, and we can’t do a thing about it. When it comes to success, we don’t know what we’re talking about.

This is great news. I can’t save souls, no matter how hard I try or how much I pray. This is a freeing message, though Scripture clearly commands us to go. This is no time to stay home, whether your mission field is overseas or not.

While we’re out there working, don’t get uptight and quantifiable about it. We won’t know if our work is successful, really. We shouldn’t concern ourselves with success at all, actually. Jesus tells us to follow Him, not success. I forgot this at times while overseas. Many churches all over the world have forgotten it altogether. It bears repeating because if you are anything like me, you skip about articles until you see something that you violently disagree or agree with. Jesus wants us to follow Him, not success.

This means we evaluate missions and ministry through a different lens. Do I give to the organization with the better website and more convenient payment plan? Does this mean I choose a church on something besides the coolness of its college and career programs, coffee and worship style? Does this mean something’s wrong when your successful summer Vacation Bible School program has become more important than summer weddings? What is my satisfaction with my ministry dependent on? The regulars showing up on time? New faces every week? Recognition? Lively discussion? Tears? Impact? Growth? Relevancy?

Not bothering about success doesn’t mean we sit idly either. We do everything as if it were for God, because it is. But can we work hard, then, without worrying about success?

I think so. Should I not rather be convinced I am where God wants me? It’s the difference, I suppose, between all the millions of good things I could be doing with my life and doing the right thing.

When I follow Jesus instead of success, I have His permission to fail. I don’t have permission to be a slacker. Nor do I have permission to force God’s plan for me to fit some juvenile ideal of success. I can let God work and rejoice that He’s got an essential part for me to play. That’s my definition of success: Being who God made me to be with everything He gave me.

Empty

The process of being emptied by God is not always the funnest experience. It's painful. Let's be honest. Being pruned and being emptied are two of the most humbling experiences I've ever encountered.

I await, with baited breath, the new person Christ will have made me when this is over-the good work He will do in me. All I know is I am incapable. I can, however, accept that God will do in me what I could never do myself.

I'm learning how to die daily. He's teaching me how to trust in his plan, not my own.

Magic

I need a little magic. Just a little. I need to feel beautiful. I need to feel like the world is not crumbling around me.

Over-rated

Washing my hair. Over-rated. Taking a shower for that matter. Over-rated. I'm not sure if it's my lack of motivation or my dispondent and lethargic disposition as of late that has caused the re-evaluation of personal hygiene. I have no one to impress. I just don't care that much. It takes so much effort to shower, shave, wash my hair, dry my hair, straighten my hair, put product in the hair, slather myself with lotion, put make-up on, pop the contacts in, and cloth myself. It takes forever. It's a production. The only time I would warrant such efforts are special ocassions and dates. I have had neither as of late.

I have had Cake going through my head all day today. It is quite possibly the best way to describe how I feel . 'Nugget' on the Fashion Nugget album. Check it.

Learn to buck up...

Sunday afternoon at the Weinmans'

The smell of glazed ham wafted from the kitchen into the small dining room. She could hear the sounds of her friends shuffling in the kitchen. The clang of Loretta doing the dishes. Ani telling the dog to stay out of the fridge. Brittany and Peter trying to solve the great ham dilemna-when to glaze.

She sat at the small table packed with mocha colored newlywed dinnerware and six too many beer glasses filled with water. The light from the mid-afternoon sun shone into the window and danced playfully off the water like dandelions dancing in the wind.

Ani had fashioned an apron out of a dishtowel and the belt of her worn cutoff jean shorts. Her hair was tossed out like yesterdays news. Curls fell onto her face and swayed in the breeze as she leaned gracefully over the short baby gate to grab the half and half for the mashed potatoes.

Peter leaned over from the stove and touched the small of her back as he kissed the side of her forhead. He loved her. You could just tell by the way her touched her back, like he wanted to protect her from some unseen foe.

She cherished moments like these. Her heart filled with hope that there would be many more moments like this one. Sunday afternoon at the Weinmans.

Day 41

Day 41 without instant messaging.

I'm not going to lie. I miss it more when people don't return phone calls. I've discovered that's a huge pet peeve of mine. I made the effort to pick up the phone and call you, please have the common courtesy to call me back. It's not hard. I'm a nice person, you're a nice person (or I wouldn't really want to be friends with you). Let's make magic.

A moment of self-discovery for you. Reading through the book of Romans for the second time in my life, I've found that God wants us to enjoy Him-His good works, His love, the way He moves in our lives. Christ died not only so that we may be forgiven, but that we could be freed from ourselves. We get in our own way. Christ makes it possible to have the life we never knew we were missing.

God has a funny way of bringing encouragement into our lives at very unexpected moments. Hillary and I were doing the bridal parties hair for Ani's wedding, and as I was picking the next song to play on the ipod, she said to me, "Launa, I love the way you love Jesus. You love Him without having to say anything." Those words touched my heart. It was what I needed to hear that day. Sometimes I feel like I don't love Him enough, or that I'm not doing a good job of expressing how much I love Him.

As Paul says in Romans, pray for me. Pray for the girls God has brought into my life. Pray for significant conversation. Pray that I (and we) may enjoy God in all His wonder and majesty.

I love you, I love your family.

The night she felt real

She'll never forget the moment. It was the first time she really felt like a woman. His worn, once-white Stryper baseball tee hung from her tall frame, hitting her mid-thigh.

Downstairs, the typical college party raged onward. The smell of stale beer mixed with sweat and a semester of big gulps and sandwiches filled his bedroom. Boys. College boys to say the least. Distant music mingled with murmers was all she could hear as she slid into his twin bed. She was surprised. The sheets smelled like mountain freshness, most likely, she concluded from his dryer sheets. Impressive.

The Milwakees Best she had downed right before coming upstairs was lingering on her breath. She wad tired from socializing. All she wanted was a good nights rest and an embrace from the owner of the t-shirt.

Things had been awkward. They had stopped talking. There was more polite banter than real conversation. He was holding something back. What it was she couldn't quite tell yet.

Nieve. That's what she was. She was afraid to push-afraid to ask the tough questions.

She pulled the thin plaid blanket up to her chin, turned on her side, and laid there for a few minutes, letting the sounds of the party below wash over her weary body. She heard his footsteps up the stairs, then in the hall. He was in front of the door. The hall light creeped in as he snuck hussedly into the room. She heard him slid off his pants and tug at his shirt.

He slid into the bed next to her and drapped his arm over her. She could feel his breath on her neck. Chills. The all over kind. Up and down her spin. She wanted to hold onto this moment for an eternity.

She let her hand fall over his drapped arm and squeezed his hand as if to signal that she recognized his presence. She wanted more than anything to turn over and kiss him, but something in her wouldn't allow it. There were no rings, no vows, no assurances of a forever. Two were not one. None-the-less, maybe this was a good sign. She felt hope well up in her chest as they lay there in the mountain fresh twin bed.

She would never forget that night. That was the night she felt real.

And...well...yeah

Day 20: Midway. So far so good.

Question of the day-
If you smoke and drink, can you still give your heart to Jesus?

(small disclaimer here: this is a question, not an admittance to any of the aformentioned things)

Comment in 3, 2, 1, go...

Day 19

Day 19

The days Ohne-IM have been well...really fun to be quite honest. I've spent more time with my girls, read about three books, went to Disneyland, met some pretty rad new people, contracted a killer cold, and actually had some pretty significant conversation. For awhile there I had forgotten how hard it can be to have real conversations. The 'Hi, how are you' conversations are never bad, but they lead to the even better 'what's new with you' conversations in which I find out about make-ups, break-ups, great concerts, shingles, bad dates, bad tests, good things, not so good things, and all things random. AND I got to see one of my best friends get engaged.

On another note, I've discovered the beauty that is bubbo tea. Delicious. I was originally put off by the thought of tapioca balls drenched in frozen Vietnamese dessert, but can I just say the tapioca...made me smile. And the movie Amelia. Thank you Laura Atchinson for exposing me to such an amazing movie.

I love you, I love your family...keep it real and get into some trouble.

The last time I checked that was illegal

Top 10 things I like about the guys in my life:

10. They know just how to tweek the car stereo to get the best sound quality
9. They always have the best stereo/audio vision set-ups. Hello surround sound.
8. They trully believe that the team will win if they just shout louder at the TV.
7. The way they take less than 30 minutes to get ready for anything.
6. They swear they dislike shows associated with being "girly" but secretly watch Blow-out.
5. They eat like horses but don't gain weight.
4. They have some sort of God-given talent for all things sporty.
3. Scars are cool in their world.
2. They get awkward around girls they like. It's adorable I promise.
1. They get excited about working on their cars and fixing the leaky sink.

How I broke up with Trader Joes...

Such a funny link. I heart craig's list. I wish I could be this funny.

yours trully
launa

Blue Like Jazz boys

I've often been disconcerted by the mundane tasks of the day. Somehow they make me feel mediocer, boring almost. Then today I read this:

The Elusive Will of God (from Relevantmagazine.com)

I call them Blue Like Jazz Boys. I’m sure you know a few of them. Maybe you’re dating one. Maybe you are one.

A Blue Like Jazz Boy is someone who manages to seamlessly weave an enthusiastic recommendation of the book Blue Like Jazz into every conversation he has. I had a hunch that two such boys were sitting next to me at a table in Starbucks. Several clues gave them away, including their lengthy analysis of the latest David Crowder Band CD and their excessive use of the word “postmodernism.” Oblivious to my eavesdropping, the boys continued conversing while sipping their $5 lattes.

“Did you decide about California yet?”
“Nah, not yet …”
“It’s a tough decision …”
“Yah … I know … it’d be a great opportunity, but I’m just not sure … I’ve been praying a lot … reading my Bible … just really trying to figure out which choice is God’s will, you know?”

I tuned out the boys so I could begin reading my book. I had just come from Barnes & Noble, and my book was brand new; their conversation, on the other hand, was not. I have heard many twentysomethings discuss their future in much the same way, talking as though God had pre-picked a specific route for their life—which college to attend, which major to choose, which place to live after college, which job to take, which person to marry and so on.

These twentysomethings routinely say things like “I’m just trying to find God’s will for my life” or “I’m wondering what God’s will is.” Their very language implies that deep down they believe God is playing a big game with them. He’s created a great riddle for them to try and solve … a divine round of hide-and-go-seek in which they are forced to participate. But I don’t think God delights in making things difficult for His creation. Although we might all wish that God would spell out His thoughts regarding what job to take or whom to marry, that’s generally not how it works.

People who become obsessed with finding and doing God’s will right before they have to make big life choices often miss the point entirely. That’s because the only time we really need to know and do God’s will is right now—in this present moment. Whether we follow His will in the small choices we make during the next hour of our lives has the greatest significance.

St. Francis of Assisi offers a good example of this. While he was raking leaves one day, a neighbor asked, “If you knew for certain that Christ Himself were coming back in a half-hour, what would you do?”

St. Francis replied, “I’d finish raking the yard.”

Many of us have come to view our daily routine as boring—just empty space to be filled with an array of distractions. But the key to knowing and doing the will of God is seeing that empty space for what it is: exceedingly important. We need to become vigilant about that space and remain unwilling to take small detours from God’s will—speaking disrespectfully to loved ones, watching trash on TV, wasting valuable time at work. It’s the wrong choices we make in everyday life that put us instantly out of God’s will for our lives.

In The Will of God as a Way of Life, author Jerry Sittser says, “The Bible tells us what we must do today, which often involves mundane tasks we tend to overlook. It tells us precious little about what is going to happen tomorrow, except to say that God is in control. We spend much of our time wishing the reverse were true. ‘Forget today,’ we say to ourselves, ‘I already know about that. It’s boring. I want to know about tomorrow because that’s unknown and exciting.’ But Jesus wants us to devote our time and energy to all the little tasks we must do every day, not just to the big decisions we have to make every so often …”

The good news is that we can decide right this moment to get back into the center of God’s will—by simply making the right choice in the next decision we’re faced with.

I wanted to tell the single-white-male-seeking-God’s-will-in-Starbucks that he had already found it. He was praying and reading God’s word; he was obviously concerned about giving God a central place in his life. Therefore, he was right where he needed to be—-trying to please his Creator through his ordinary, every day life. If he continued doing that, he’d probably remain in God’s will whether he moved to California or stayed in Chicago.

I glanced up from my book as the two boys stood up to leave.
“See you Wednesday?”
“Yah, I’ll definitely be there…we changed it back to 7, right?
“Yep … Oh, and don’t forget to bring Blue Like Jazz for Dave to borrow …”

I looked back down to hide my smile.

Jennifer Ruisch is the author of Faith and the City (RELEVANT Books). She lives in Des Moines, Iowa with her husband.

putting your money where your mouth is

Ninety-one million. Not quit the number of stars in the sky or grains of sand on the beach, but it is the number of registered Instant Messanger users as of 2004, according to America Online.

That's a lot of people. A wooping 70% of American internet users say they use instant messanger. The gentle cling of the IM alert and the orange blinking indicator of the IM box are well know in today's culture.

"You've got mail" has been replaced by the glow of our buddy lists. We have full conversations, heck full relationships, within the confinds of our living rooms-over the internet. What happened to body language? The tone in a persons voice?

When did we decide it was ok to have contrived, semi-personal, mediocer relationships with each other? I'd be lying to say I haven't been the perpetrator of such relationships. My last relationship was, in fact, started on the internet and continued in part by IM. I have done it. I still do it. I'm too afraid to pick up the phone and call, so I take the easy, passive way out and send an IM.

Messaging is, albeit, convenient for a generation glued to their computers, but I'm tired of mediocer relationships. I want authenticity. I want genuine conversation. I want to hear my friends laugh, cry, be joyful, be angry. There is something to be said about a good conversation about what's on your heart.

I've decided to put my money where my mouth is. I'm giving up Instant Messanger for lent. I'm going to chronicle my time post IM. Days-ohne-IM, if you will (if you speak German you may catch the cleaverness in the title).

I'm excited to see where God takes me on this journey. Till I see you again, keep it semi-real, get into some trouble, and know that I love you...and your family.

The love arena

I read this awhile ago, and it made me think of relationships, both in the friend arena and the "more" arena.

Christian Love: Giving up the Fantasy

"...If we are to embrace a brand of Christianity that truly alters our lives and the world in which we inhabit, it will require more from us than throwing out our secular music and wearing kitschy T-shirts bearing memorable Jesus-ized slogans.

First, it’s important to rediscover the unsexy unselfishness inherent in biblical ideas of love. We have to remind the world (and ourselves) that love involves sacrifice. Somewhere along the way, the “otherness” that love demands gets lost. In a generation where self-gratification reaches new levels through erotic mass media and a dangerously casual dating culture, the idea of abstaining from indulgence sounds almost puritanical. Yet such an attitude is completely contrary to a 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love that is defined, not by feelings or emotions or sensuality, but by matters of will, of choice and of sacrifice.

It doesn’t sound very erotic, but it may be the only prescription for healthy, transcendent relationships...

Finally, love must be removed—with a scalpel, if necessary—from the romantic entanglements lauded by pop culture’s generic TV-archetypes. Ironically, this aspect of false love may be the most difficult to rid ourselves of. Because it is seemingly benign (almost adorably innocent), it escapes the critical lens of truth. Who could deny the life-changing love that grew and blossomed between Justin and Britney? Brad and Angelina? Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper? Who would want to?

The truth nobody likes to admit (but everyone knows deep down) is that love can be quite unimpressive, even boring; my parents have watched British comedies every Saturday night for 15 years! Before that, they square-danced. God save us from such fates …

Or perhaps: God redeem us through such simplicity...

Love is a lot of work—gut-wrenching at times—which means that Christianity is inevitably hard, no matter what the televangelists say..."

(Peter Walker is a Spiritual Formation student at George Fox Seminary, and works with youth and drama ministries at his local church. He is desperate for change.)

www.relevantmagazine.com

Red Digital Numbers

12:03 am. That's the time. My cheap digital alarm clock says so. With every passing second the little red digital numbers remind me that the evening drags on. Three nights in a row this has happened. I can't sleep. Something is not right. What it is I can't figure out. Stress. Stubborness. Restlesness. Frustration. Who knows really. Maybe all of the above. The fact remains, however, that this can not go on. My will must be stronger than my body. My will screams a resounding 'no'! My body screams 'please'! It's just like what I imagine a brides body would scream after the first caress of her groom. Longing. She would long to be one. I just long to sleep. Somehow that seems enough for the moment.