still to be done

During worship this weekend, a photographic montage was shown while a recording of Chris Tomlin singing “God of This City” served as the musical score. The photos were mostly of our town, and Pastor David used it to confirm that his transition to our church is complete, that he is committed to praying for this community and that he knows greater things are still to be done…here. Funny how God can speak the same message to me through the same song…but expect me to hear something far removed from what David heard. 8,581 miles removed, to be specific.

Throughout the length of the song, as David preached, and after the benediction…my heart was pulled and the tears that slipped down were not for my own city, but rather for one I’ve never even walked the streets of. Phnom Penh. Desperate and beautiful Phnom Penh. Where the slums next door are barely concealed from the view of your luxury suite…but if you squint a little, you may be able to blur the image enough to forget what you’ve seen. Just don’t stand at the window too long.

Phnom Penh. Where you can wander the markets and surmise that the bird vendors, with their cages stuffed and noisy, are selling pets…despite the stall down the street with the skewered barbeque in similar shapes and sizes. You can believe the smiling young girls are only peddling flowers in the park, though they are, like the birds, also caged. And so many will suffer a parallel fate - skewered, devoured, and discarded.

Lord, will you remember Phnom Penh? Will I?



You're the God of this city
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation
You are

You're the light in this darkness
You're the hope to the hopeless
You're the peace to the restless
You are

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things
Have yet to come
And greater things
Are still to be done in this city

The Road of Lost Innocence

The True Story of a Cambodian Heroine

By Somaly Mam


This is one of the most truly awful portraits of mankind I have ever willingly subjected myself to. Somaly Mam was sold into sexual slavery as a child in Cambodia and this book is the story of her life. She is candid and brutal in her openness and entering her world left me broken and sick. But as a Mid-West twentysomething living a pretty charmed life, where my biggest concern is finding a rug to put in my family room…I need a little breaking now and then.

Somaly eventually climbed out of the hell of the brothel with the aid of a Frenchman, and has since dedicated her life to helping other young girls do the same. Her tale is wretched and inspiring, tragic and heroic. I hope you read it. And I hope it wrecks you the way it has me. So instead of talking about the book itself, I’d rather talk about the effects of reading it. (Ok, I guess I’m not a very disciplined reviewer.)

I had a general knowledge about the existence of the sex trade, and rampant human trafficking around the globe before reading this book. But like most injustice that takes place outside of my immediate family and friends…it’s so easy to acknowledge…maybe even cry a little over it…and then go back to rug shopping. Such has not been the case since reading Somaly’s book. I can’t get her out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about her and the girls she’s helping. I can’t stop praying and asking God why He allows this to happen…and why Christians (myself included) are largely ignoring it. Are these not the orphans…the poor…the weak…that we’re (I’m) commanded to look after?

But the resounding thought that is most doggedly pursuing me is this: Somaly isn’t really out of slavery.

“I’ve tried a great many things. But the past is inscribed on my body now. When you see the marks on your skin, the scars of torture and cigarette burns, the shape of the chains on your ankles, you feel the past can never be wiped away.”

“I lived amid this stench for so long that I can’t bear it now. Even fifteen years later, I feel dirtied by it. So I wash myself like a madwoman, put cream on and cover myself in eau de toilette in order to mask the stench that pursues me. At home, I have a cupboard full of perfume. I spend money to blot out a smell that exists only in my imagination.”

“What’s the use of such an existence? Apart from crying, what does one do with it?...To say that the past is past, that you need to put it all behind you, is what I say all the time to the girls who come to the center with their unendurable suffering. I know how to say all this, but I also know that it’s useless and serves little purpose. Nothing can cauterize those old wounds.”

I realized that in the midst of reading about previously unimaginable suffering, I was still hoping for a happy ending. Hoping that Somaly would be healed. But every time I read the above, my heart breaks anew. She’s living closely with the horrors of her past, not able to escape from the filth, and haunted by evil still. “Nothing can cauterize those old wounds” she says. The thing is…she’s wrong.

Jesus can.

Does she know? Has she heard? Has anyone told her of the power in the blood of Christ? That He can wash her with it, and she can finally be clean? Has she met Gomer…the woman that chose to be a whore and her faithful husband Hosea…who brought her back home?

Does she know?

Does she know that Jesus hung around prostitutes? That He loved them? That He loves her? That He wants her to be His bride? That He desires to and is able to save her from her prison?

Who will tell her? Will I?

--------------------------------------------------------

As courageous and heroic as Somaly Mam has been, rescuing others from the pit she herself was once buried in…my heart cries out that it isn’t enough. Girls are being unleashed from the chains of the brothel only to find themselves fettered still…by shame, by fear. Somaly and her fellow workers do what they can to care for these girls, to teach them their value, to show them love. But man’s effort…man’s love…how futile it is without the power of Christ. Only His love can transform, only His love can heal. Only Christ.

But does she know?

Who will tell her? Will I?

Case Re-Opened

10¹. I sleep in this morning because I am on the 9-6 shift this week. I stroll into work at 8:50am and my back-up asks "What happened? No one knew where you were and everyone's freaking out!"

I am not on the 9-6 shift this week.


1. In case you're wondering where #8 and #9 went, I will explain. #8 is June's comment, though since refuted and dismissed. #9 happened last week. I told some people about it, I was going to post it, and then I forgot what it was. So maybe that's actually #10 and the #10 above is #11.

Good Grief

O, LORD, do not rebuke me in Your anger, nor chasten me in Your wrath.
Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am pining away; Heal me, O LORD, for my bones are dismayed.
And my soul is greatly dismayed; but You, O LORD – how long?
Return, O LORD, rescue my soul; save me because of Your lovingkindness.
For there is no mention of You in death; in Sheol who will give You thanks?
I am weary with my sighing; every night I make my bed swim, I dissolve my couch with my tears.
My eye has wasted away with grief; it has become old because of all my adversaries.
Depart from me, all you who do iniquity, for the LORD has heard the voice of my weeping.
The LORD has heard my supplication, the LORD receives my prayer.
All my enemies will be ashamed and greatly dismayed; they shall turn back, they will suddenly be ashamed.



The sixth psalm has been my comfort on a few separate occasions. Times when I’ve sunk low in loneliness and deep sorrow. Waiting until the still darkness of night creeps in…the secret hours…to sigh, and to grieve. Weeping over broken dreams. Broken hearts. Brokeness.

I find solace in knowing that King David wept. That he pined. That his very soul was wearied and dismayed. That he, too, cried out “O LORD, how long?” And that in his lament, he found a God who heard him, who received his prayers. A God that would rescue his soul.

We’ve been reading about the humanity of Jesus this past week in Book Club¹. What struck me as particularly important about acknowledging Jesus’ humanity is the same thing that causes David’s song to resonate. Like David, Jesus wept. He was lonely, weary, and laden with a sorrowful burden I could never carry. Does my own selfish grief build a wall between this perfect God-man and me….or will I look in the mirror and see not my face, but the tear-stained face of Jesus, suffering with me? Suffering for me. Suffering because of me.

…………

But the night has always faded with the coming dawn, and the light rushes in, dissolving the shadows. Each day brings the promise, the reality, of resurrection².

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. The LORD’S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. -- Lamentations 3:21-23


1. Vintage Jesus: Timeless Answers to Timely Questions - Mark Driscoll & Gerry Breshears

2. For some far more interesting and beautiful reflections on resurrection, see Pete. Go read it. Now. Run.

How To of the Day: How to Cook a Snake

Thanks to my WikiHow gadget on my iGoogle page, I now know. This is the technologically savvy way of learning. The alternative method is to ask Jared.



I very nearly posted last month…honest. It was to be a tragic story of a girl who sacrificed her one real beauty in order to learn the intricacies of guitar playing so that she may share her glorious, albeit undiscovered, talents with the world. But then our supremely interesting heroine found a house, the guitar gathered dust, and the post grew cold. (On the sunny side, her nails are also growing! Of course, that means you’ll all miss out on her super-deep thoughts regarding the spiritual consequences of cutting one’s fingernails. Such is life.)

In addition to sucking up any possible free time that could be used for posting, this whole house buying process is having some noticeable effects on me. The first house I considered making an offer on cost me a night’s rest. The second house I considered (and am now purchasing) also stole away a few hours, even though I felt quite confident with the decision. But sleep deprivation is not that unusual given the circumstances. The unexpected effect is my loss of memory and/or normal brain function. It borders on amnesia. I present to you the following evidence:

1. 4th of July – I leave my pillow and a pair of jeans at The Flats…right after I chide myself for nearly forgetting my sunscreen. (A lot of good remembering the sunscreen did me the next day in Oscoda.)

2. Camping at Houghton Lake – I opened my travel toothbrush case and found it devoid of my travel toothbrush. I have no idea where it is. I had just used it the previous weekend…at the Flats. It is still missing.

3. REAL Leadership Meeting Discussion – Scheduled over a month ago for this week. Please read this reenactment of a conversation regarding this meeting (ok, technically not a reenactment, but I’m sure you can visualize):
Garrett: I talked to Jeff and he’s going to be late to the meeting.
Me: *blink*
…………(crickets)……………
Me: *blink* What meeting?
Garrett: (recovering quickly from the shock, celebrates with a gleeful, and somewhat disturbing, laugh…and a happy dance.)

4. Monday Night Book Club – I drive home and pull into my (Kels’) parking space. I reach to grab my book and my Bible. They are not on my passenger seat. They are at Garrett’s house.

5. Tuesday Night REAL Leadership Meeting – I drive home and pull into my (Kels’) parking space. I reach to grab my book bag. It is not on my passenger seat. It is at the Winter’s house.

6. Thursday Night Bible Study – A reunion with my book bag fails to produce my study notes for the Bible Study. They are not at the Winter’s. They are at home on my living room floor.

7. The above actions are neither normal nor acceptable. I am losing my mind.

Q.E.D.

May 3 - Childhood Stroke Awareness Day

I know....it's like a posting frenzy around here...but Ma sent me a link to a really interesting article on how our brains can rewire themselves. It's not breaking news or anything...published over a year ago. But my niece's stroke is teaching us all kinds of amazing wonders about the human brain. It is truly an incredible thing.

(BTW...if you get a change to read the article, the Constraint-Induced Therapy mentioned on the second page is probably in Kaci's near future. It's not just restricting the good arm so she HAS to use her right arm...it can actually reorganize the brain...and other areas of her brain could take over the functions of the damaged areas. Amazing.)

albertoing

Here is my most highly embarrassing post ever, but it’s for Kelsey…and she’s leaving us soon to be a missionary in Africa, so it’s pretty much impossible to say no to her right now.

Do you remember when you were 13¹? Were you just crazy over some actor² or rock star? Everyone my age had a crush on at least one of the New Kids³. Did you hang posters up in your room? Soak up all the mundane info offered in the teen magazines? Secretly dream of meeting him? Somehow you knew that if you just had the chance, he would most likely fall madly in love with you and life thereafter would be pretty much perfect⁴.

If you think I’m going to expound on how those childish feelings shadow the longing for the Great Romance…you’re wrong. I’m going to hang my head sheepishly and admit…I, at 28 years old, have just such a crush on someone.


Pete Peterson.


*sigh*

He’s not exactly a famous rockstar, or famous anything. He is the brother of a not-so-well known storyteller (but you all know him!), and I know next to nothing about him. I don’t even know his real name. I think it may have started before The Rabbit Room was opened, but his posts on that site have been my undoing. You could say I am pretty much infatuated with him. He's creative, sarcastic, and surprisingly vulnerable in the thoughts that he shares online. He likes Lost and cheesecake and good art. (He also eats pickles, but how could you hold that against him after reading this, my favorite post?) I find myself visiting the RR with the hope that he has recently been hanging around, and letting us all into his mind for a moment or two⁵.

To hopefully detract from the general creepiness⁶ of this post, I'm going to say this: I think I appreciate him as much as I appreciate his brother, Andrew...if not more. Seriously. Both of them encourage me (unknowingly!) through sharing their views on God, religion, life...or just random silliness. But Pete is single (as far as I know anyway) and I think single people tend to view life through a slightly different lens. This lens isn't sharper or blurrier than others, just different. And maybe sharing that prescription with him allows me to connect in a unique way. Or maybe I'm just trying to justify my absurd girlish behavior! Either way, I encourage you to read the provided posts, and get to know this mysterious brother of AP's. But don't get too attached...he's mine!⁷ Seriously.


1. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any readers under that age, so it’s probably an answerable question.

2. For sake of convenience, and honesty, we’ll also assume all my readers are female…I apologize if this is not the case. If you are not female, and you are reading this, you’ve never left a comment, so I don’t know you’re out there. I have suspicions, but as much as I enjoy albertoing via SiteMeter, it does not tell me your gender. Alas, perhaps one day it will.

3. Except Jill. She never did. Or claims she never did, anyway. Maybe one day, SiteMeter will reveal that mystery as well.

4. Do you remember that Kelsey? *snicker* Or are you thinking “Is she still speaking English? What?”

5. For a somewhat dated, but...um...interesting look into the mind of Pete, check this out. Fascinating, I tell you.

6. I know nothing can actually detract from the creepiness. I have no excuses. If Pete ever ends up hearing about this, and presses charges...one of you will post bail, right? I should be relatively safe, considering my readership barely hits double digits....but you never know. Friends of friends, and all that. Grieses...that means you are sworn to silence on this subject! You are the dangerous ones...with all your connections! Of course, jail time isn't really a concern either, since I would die of mortification first!

7. Yes, it's another footnote! Deal with it! They have now (mostly) replaced my overuse of parentheses!

hebrews 12:1-3

So, I’ve been running a bit lately. Seriously. A friend of mine caught me at a weak moment and convinced a few of us to enter a 5K in June. Now, if you know me, you know I am not a runner. I try to stay in somewhat decent shape, but I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever actually ran for two reasons: One…because I had to, either at practice or to pass gym class. Two…chasing (or being chased by) bears. That’s it. I have never felt the desire to run for it’s own sake. I have bad knees…my perpetual excuse. Those years of Poms and Cheerleading had to be paid for somehow, and we all decided to sacrifice a long future of bendable joints. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

But it’s been 10 years since high school (hello, reunion!) and I have been racking up the miles on the ellipticals at Smitty’s. And the three other women that signed up for the 5K have all sworn to be non-runners like me. (I have my doubts about the truth of those claims, one in particular. You know who you are.) “We’ll run when we feel like it and walk when we feel like it.”¹ So I figured I didn’t have much to lose. We found a plan called “Couch to 5K” that’s supposed to be really effective for pretty much anyone wanting to start from zero. I downloaded some podcasts that go with the running schedule and bought a new pair of running shoes. (Ok, ok…I also created an Excel spreadsheet with the plan laid out and spaces for each of us to type in our names when we’ve completed each session. Shared on Google Docs, of course.) So, we stepped off the ellipticals and hit hard pavement.

Turns out I wasn’t lying about my knees. My right one may be the death of me, in fact. I am hoping that it’s just weak, and with a little more training…it will get better. I started using a good brace last night, and the added stability seemed to help. But it wasn’t great, even after 5 days of rest. And then I took the brace off. Goodness. Why, oh why do we live on the second floor? Stairs: my new arch nemesis.

I’ve gotten a plethora of helpful advice: “Get a brace.” “Ice packs and aspirin!” “Stretching should help.” And my favorite…”Running is probably the worst thing you could do right now.” But since I really, really want to follow through with this, ice packs and aspirin are on my shopping list. And since the 5K is only 6 weeks away, extended resting isn’t really an option right now. But we’ll see.

Anyway, my point about posting this was not to complain. I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole discipline of running, sticking to a plan, achieving a goal…and stumbling blocks (or knee problems) along the way. My desire to push ahead through the pain has much less to do with the 5K and much more to do with lessons in perseverance². How impatient I am once I have my sights fixed on a prize…and how often I am discouraged by roadblocks or detours. How quickly I give up and settle into the grass along the side of the road. And how envious I am as I watch others sprint by, breathing easily. How can it be so effortless for some, while I’m panting on the ground, nursing my wounds?

I want to be done with excuses. I want to cast off the impatience and the jealousy and the past mistakes. I want to get off the couch for reasons greater than chasing bear. I want to chase Jesus.


Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. Heb 12:1-3

May we not grow weary, Dear Reader. May we, for the joy set before us, endure.


1. Now I know there are those of you out there that think 5K is no big deal and you can run for miles and miles and not get winded. Good for you. I can’t. Please don’t laugh at me.
2. Ma, if you’re reading this…don’t worry. I know the spiritual metaphor can only be taken so far. I promise to listen to my body and ease off if my knee doesn’t improve over the next few weeks.

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness by Andrew Peterson: A Rambling Sort of Review

“By Andrew Peterson.” Do I really need to say much more than that? If you are a regular here, probably not. You already know what I think about all things AP, so elaboration might not be necessary. But on the off-chance that someone new stumbles across this page, let me give fair warning. I am a fan¹. But please, Dear Reader, do not let my slight bias overshadow the main point of this post:

You must read this book.

If you love fantasy, you must read this book. If you love adventure, you must read this book. If you love dragons and treasure and secrets and mystery and humor and family and honor and cheese, you must read this book! And if you love to discover the deeper beauty and hidden majesty buried within deceptively simple tales, you MUST read this book. Let me tell you why…

Andrew Peterson has been labeled with many titles. Singer. Songwriter. Christian Artist. Friend of Cheese. But, I believe the most fitting title is that of Storyteller. He has been spinning his tales for years through song and has now entered into the world of Fiction, much to the delight of his fans². But you don’t have to know his music to fall hard for his literature. This novel is stand-alone fantastic, sure to be treasured by all those lucky enough to find themselves in possession of a copy³. (You can buy your own here.)

Rather than tell you about the book, I’m going to tell you about why I love the book. (Go to The Rabbit Room for a great review…or just go to The Rabbit Room for a great many…great things.) Like everything else AP, the quality of writing is almost painfully good. Though the reader is introduced to a multitude of locations, characters, and foods wholly unique to the world of Aerwiar, the narrative is comfortable and familiar, like an old friend. The peculiar words do not hinder readability…rather, they plead with you to give them a voice. I often found myself reading aloud just to experience the whimsical taste of the words in my mouth.

But whimsy alone does not a good story make. And this is not just a good story…this is a great story. Great because, like AP’s music, it inevitably points to a greater story. The captivity of our own world is echoed on the faces of the Skreeans, unable to erase the shadows of sorrow, even at the much-anticipated Dragon Day Festival. But each year, on this extraordinary day, Hope swells with the dragons’ song in the hearts of the captives…reminding them anew of what it’s like to be alive…what it’s like to be free. When the dragons sink back into the sea, all that swelled submerges, to lie dormant again until next year. Well, nearly all. Our boy-hero, Janner, seems to have held onto a morsel, bittersweet as homesickness, and just enough to quicken his appetite…leaving him hungry for an incomprehensible…more.

The book left me hungry for more, as well…but I know exactly what I want. A second helping of Wingfeather Saga, please. (With a generous portion of Peet the Sock Man!⁴) I giggled in the first chapter, wept in the last, and feared those fearsome toothy cows all along the way. The ending, while not entirely unpredictable, had enough clever bends to keep me riveted to the very last word. And though I was altogether satisfied with the conclusion, I sighed heavily with the turn of the final page. When does Book Two come out, again?

And did I tell you that you must read this book?




1. By “fan” I mean zealous admirer, vehement advocate, and tireless promoter of the man’s work. One might also use terms like fierce, rabid, and very-nearly-obsessed…if one was so inclined and rather ill-mannered.

2. Oh, yes. There are many of us. See footnote 1 for additional information or visit AP's site to meet some of them.

3. Post a comment here on Canaan Bound about the book and you’ll get a chance to win a free copy. More details on that to come, if necessary. (By “if necessary” I mean if anyone other than a Regular Reader actually posts a comment, and I have to figure out how to get said free copy to Unknown Commenter. Check back.)

4. Peet the Sock Man, oh how I love thee! You deserve your own post, but that must wait until this world is more fully acquainted with you.

as time goes by (or bring on the birthday (cheese)cake!)

So…Daniel. Yeah, he’s cool.

Here I was, reading along, doing my observations on Daniel 4, not really expecting any surprises…after all…I have read it before. King Nebuchadnezzar is giving his testimony about the second prophetic dream the Lord gave him. Like the first, none of his magicians and conjurers or wise men can interpret it for him. Then I come along to verse 8…little old, unobtrusive verse 8. I didn’t even get through the whole verse…just the first five words: “But finally Daniel came in”. Finally? Finally Daniel came in? Where was Daniel? By this time, he and Nebby were good buddies, right? He had already done such a great job interpreting the king’s first dream. Nebuchadnezzar declared that “a spirit of the gods” was in Daniel and made him Chief Magician…so where was he when his subordinates were fumbling around all incompetent? One would think he’d be the first one called in. Why all the fuss? Why waste time?

This Sunday in Small Church we studied the story of Lazarus in John 11. Jesus hears his friend is sick and then waits two days before even starting to head in his direction. Lazarus has been dead for four days by the time Jesus arrives. Martha and Mary both know that Lazarus would not have died had Jesus been with him…so why wait? Christ even wept with them, though He was fully aware He would shortly call Lazarus forth from the grave. Why all the fuss of letting Lazarus die at all? Why wait?

Lazarus’ passing through death, and having the ties that bound him removed reminded me of Daniel’s three friends. Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego also could have questioned the Lord’s timing. If He was planning on delivering them anyway, why not do that before the all the fuss of the fire? Why wait??

I know one of the answers to this question is commonly “God brings us through the fire to refine us.” And I agree…God will certainly use circumstances in our lives to burn away those impurities and make us all shiny. But I think there’s another answer, and that’s the one He’s hammering into my heart. Sometimes…it might not be about us at all. Sometimes…it’s about Him. Why send in the magicians and conjurers again? Why let Lazarus die? Why roast the faithful Jews? And getting ahead of myself a little…why throw Daniel in with the lions (who, by the way, was found innocent before the king AND the Lord…so I’m not so sure about the need for refining there)? Why wait?

Because it brings Him more glory.

How much more memorable is it to deliver Your servants from a roaring furnace, or a lions’ den, than to simply allow them to escape the king's hand? How much more astounding is it to raise a man from the dead than to heal a sick man? Because sometimes sick men (like those turned into newts) get better. How much more impressive was Daniel’s ability to interpret the dream when no one else was found capable? God waited, and His waiting brings Him the most glory.

So, let’s get practical. Why is this important to me? I am about to turn 28. And I’ve been whining about that a bit. I would be fine with being 28…if I were married. If I could see a family in my near future. If my life was going as I had planned, according to my schedule. And I’m tired of being told to wait; that God’s preparing me…or refining me…or whatever me. I feel prepared. To be perfectly honest, I feel like I can relate to Daniel pretty well right now. I’m found living in obedience, innocent before the Lord. (Please don’t misunderstand me…I’m quite aware of my sinfulness…but as far as where God is calling me, and what He is calling me to do…I am confident that I am right where He would have me.) So, why wait?

What if…it’s all about Him? What if all this waiting will bring Him the most glory? I can live with that. In fact, isn’t that what I’m living for?

So, no more complaining about being old. I will hold fast to this truth: God orchestrates events and circumstances to bring glory to Himself…and He’s all about the timing. My patience will be rooted in knowing not just that He is working things out for my good; He is working things out for His glory. In all my struggles with singleness, this is the most precious truth He has given me. And what amazes me is…this is not a new truth for me. It’s just been spoken a bit louder this last week, and I’ve heard it a little more clearly. Sometimes, God waits. But…

Finally, Daniel came in.

i can't resist

Got these pics of my niece this morning and they made my day, so I thought I'd share...

perhaps driving 2700 miles does something strange to a person...

My much anticipated Precepts study on Daniel started this week. As important as the overview lessons are, I’m anxious to dig into the book by chapter and verse. Hopefully, it will give me something to post about! It will definitely give me something to discuss with my dear friend Amy, which is convenient, given that all other topics were exhausted on the last leg of our recent trip. Thanks, Ames…I don’t know that I’ve ever had an 11-hour conversation before…but I’ve certainly never had one so enjoyable.

I’ve also started something new that should help me be more intentionally aware of God’s hand in my life and the lives of those around me. Will let you know how that goes…

Maybe it’s just the new digit at the end of my datestamp…but I feel the stirrings of change. (It could be the odd spring-like weather, too.) I don’t know. I can almost hear the rustle of impending adventure. I am in an entirely different frame of mind than I was at my last posting. Even my dreams seem to suggest a shift in current…but that’s probably more of a reflection of my time in Daniel rather than anything to do with reality.

Speaking of dreams (and reality)…I found myself doing something rather…peculiar…today. (Read: utterly and desperately neurotic) I woke up this morning remembering my dream quite clearly. In it, I had a conversation with a friend that troubled me. As I was taking a shower, wholly understanding that it occurred in a dream and did not actually happen, I started to contemplate why this friend said certain things.

Seriously.

Fully aware that I MADE IT UP IN MY HEAD, I still mulled over every word, nuance, and gesture…tried to search out his real motives. ..and then attempted to predict what would have happened if the dream hadn’t ended.

I need to be institutionalized. (Not where old people go, Jared...where CRAZY people go.)