[...] 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