wind blows deeply

I awoke this morning certain of the time for the church service. Perhaps it's because I haven't been in a while, but I was only an hour off. So I went online to find "The Call" as suggested by Atticus. While searching for other books to reach the free shipping amount for my basket I came across this one; it's on backorder but the excerpt struck a chord.

A God-ordained vision will begin as a concern. You will hear or see something that gets your attention... Unlike many passing concerns, these will stick with you. You will find yourself thinking about them in your free time. You may lose sleep over them. You won't be able to let them go because they won't let you go.

Nehemiah's concern over the condition of Jerusalem consumed him... So what did he do? Nothing. He did absolutely nothing... He chose to wait. Nehemiah knew what so many of us have a hard time remembering: What could be and should be can't be until God is ready for it to be. So he waited...

The story of Nehemiah... illustrates the truth that a clear vision does not necessarily indicate a green light to begin... A vision rarely requires immediate action. It always requires patience.

"Visioneering", Andy Stanley

After 700 years of doing what he was built for, he'll discover what he was meant for.
Wall•e, Pixar

I wonder if I get it the other way around, or perhaps not at all. I tend to think I know what I was meant for [...to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, Westminster Catechism] but am I actually doing what I was built for? That is, are my aspirations the same as God's goals for me?

One piece of the puzzle just isn't enough: either vision or preparation alone, without the other, won't get you anywhere. You might be fortunate to bumble along in chaos and frustration.

A few months ago, I made a side note about preparation. The story is about King Xerxes' search for a new queen, seeing as how Vashti had more than ticked him off. So now we have an episode of The Bachelor, except that the king isn't really a bachelor and none of this will be televised; although, you could likely guarantee that the gossip would have spread. The women gather at the palace and spend a whole year getting ready (beautifying) before they went to "see" Xerxes. Sure they had vision (let's get in with the King) but they also put some time into the preparation.

Greg's tagline reads: an up-and-coming, soon-to-be world famous photographer, world traveler and oddball. Today, I was reading his latest post on his journey to fulfill the "world famous photographer" bit. In the post, Greg refers to a few posts from David about the necessity of vision to balance nifty equipment.

I had to really look down deep inside and make sure it wasn’t just a desire for a newer, “better” lens. But, after some careful reflection, it was a decision based on the need to have equipment that would allow me to achieve my vision -- Greg

Vision matters because it’s the destination that determines the choice of road map. -- Dave

I took a gorgeous drive through the countryside this afternoon. People often judge the prairies, especially Saskatchewan, for being too monotonous. I fear it is due to their solitary experience of driving the TransCanada through Regina. Other than a little excitement around the Cypress Hills (and truly, one doesn't ever see the full extent of that area from the highway), the drive along this stretch of twinned asphalt can be admittedly quite dull.

Visitors never see the forests just north of Saskatoon. The enormous pristine lakes of the upper reached. The lush and winding Qu'Appelle Valley. And that's where I went today.

Highway 6 between Regina and Southey was a breath-taking series of moments. The valley was full of lush green following recent rains. Golden sunlight hit bluffs and sloughs, illuminating them against a curtain of deep grey clouds -- threatening to release their precious hold at any moment.

These very clouds, hanging so low, dared to stray mere inches above the ground. Almost as if I could reach out and take hold of these rich bundles of fleece. And once again this week, the boundary between earth and sky was nearly indistinguishable.

And home I returned; soul filled with recollections of the sheer extravagance of God's creation.

This land is your land, This land is my land,
From Bonavista, to Vancouver Island
From the Arctic Circle to the Great Lakes waters,
This land was made for you and me.
The Travellers

What land do I live in? Are there parts of this land that I do not want? This is the city I live in:

Thirty per cent of residents depend on government assistance. Local food banks deal with more than 3,600 requests a month. The health authority, which last year distributed 1.8 million needles, estimates there are more IV drug users per capita than on Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. Girls as young as 11 or 12 regularly work the stroll. [The] high incidence of break and enters, car thefts, street robberies and violent assaults has placed the city at the top of Canada's urban crime rankings for nine of the past 10 years.
Canada's worst neighbourhood

We have the highest crime and murder rates in the country. Also, a few months ago, I wrote about the high cost of healthy eating in the province.

One of the most frustrating bits of being in Africa was the constant pull to tourist land. It was my messed up re-entry reverse culture shock. I was so happy to be back yet had a feeling near guilt every time I walked to the gas station for ice cream, took photos of monkeys or checked my email.

Now I'm back and living, you guessed it, in tourist land. I have done nothing to address the social injustices in my own community.

The pull to return to Africa is like a magnet; every fibre of my being longs to be there. But God said wait. Your time is done. But it seems like it would be so easy to go back. And because it seems that way, I wonder if it then becomes the easy way out. (And besides, God said wait.)

May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of you.

St. Theresa's Prayer

When do you ask for help? I know I tend to be stubbornly self-reliant but willing to say yes to any deserving cause. I know I have talked about the line from my mission statement before, the one about taking care of myself so I can take care of others and how I often don't do this. Even more difficult is letting someone else take care of me.

I think I see others as I see myself: generally self-sufficient. So sometimes it surprises me when someone takes me up on the offer of "call anytime." Maybe what I am trying to say is don't hesitate to call ... I do not care what time it is. I will take you to the airport, look after your pet, lend an ear, help you move, bring you food and sit by your side until what ails you has passed.

The thing is, this is who I am; I serve, help, assist, enable, facilitate. It's all about me making sure it's all about you. And as long as I am a part of this little community of family and friends, and as long let God be a part of it all, I know I will be taken care of along the way.

Just call my name and I'll be there.

“When people show you who they are, believe them.” -Maya Angelou

SB recently discussed this quote; one that has held meaning to her over the years. One of her comments was: "I tend to be optimistic about people... So when a person shows me, through word or action, that they are self-centered, or unreliable, or unkind, I often choose to ignore it without even realizing it."

In a similar vein, I had a realization recently about my interaction with others. If I believe you have good intentions but things repeatedly show themselves differently, rather than doubt you or your intentions I begin to doubt me. After a while, it develops into a reflex response to other people or other situations -- despite knowing the truth of the matter, I choose to doubt myself. The thing is to learn how not to panic.

With snow being forecast for tomorrow, I find myself yearning for a lazy summer afternoon of laying on the grass staring at cotton-ball clouds float merrily past. The sort where staring at the clouds turns into daydreams.

Then again, I've been having enough daydreams of my own lately -- just not the sort found on summer afternoons. More of a working out of all sorts of issues. I am guessing this results from months of being far too busy turning into merely just sort of too busy. With some "extra" time on my hands, I now have the opportunity to process life. Unfortunately, it does not often take a linear approach.

I have accumulated many good stories so far from my travels this weekend. The "you made our day" comment in Tim Horton's, the little Italian man that reminded me of the contractor in Under the Tuscan Sun, the old colleague who came specifically to hear my presentation, the thirtieth birthday party (complete with costumes).

What drew my attention the most, and it has done it before, was the fact that a good conversation in any relationship truly needs presence. Otherwise you miss the normal events in everyday life, the long pause before spilling a difficult story, the opportunity to pass a tissue or give a hug. Better put, relationships require intimacy; itimacy in an encompassing sort of way. Not just physical intimacy, or spatial or emotional. Obviously other things too: trust, commitment, respect; but relationships require closeness.

I'm so happy you're here.
It's been a long time since I've had you near my dear.
Come on inside get away from the cold wind that's blowin.
Gonna let you know, that I'm so glad you're here.
I worried about ya, I'm so glad you're here.
After all we've been through, I'm so glad you're here.
It's good to see ya baby, I'm so glad you're here.
~Macy Gray, Glad You're Here

This is possibly the worst week I have had in a long time. The worst bit is having to act like things are ok. Yet here I go again: pulling myself together, putting on a smile and helping everyone else.
An unexpected gift received today from a far-away friend might just be enough to get me though. It is providence really; too coincidental to be anything else.

Yesterday I went to church. For most of you this isn't surprising. What was surprising for me is that I resisted every minute of it.
Not in the sense of needing to be anywhere else. Not in the sense of questioning every bit of theology. I simply kept looking at my watch in hopeful anticipation of the end of the service.
Yesterday I did not want to be in church.
Yesterday, chances are that I felt obligated to be in church.
I know all about community, the need for it, the command for it. I know churches are made up of people and that people aren't perfect, that people will hurt you, that people will let you down.
While I still am passionate about my faith, something has happened these last few months that makes me wonder where organized religion will fit into my life.

I had a thought. At least that's how most posts end up here. This evening's thought came as I began to pray. The thought that came to mind as I began with a silent, unuttered whisper of "Oh God" was that those very words were also somehow also echoing thunderously across the universe.

This led to a thought about Madeline L'Engle's A Wind in the Door where Charles is sick and the mitochondria need to learn a new song. The smallest things suddenly have universal importance; no longer is there a linear increment of value and consequence.

Of course, the mention of wind brings us all back to this screen; an eclectic collection of semi-random thoughts from the girl next door.

The wind may be a gentle breeze across your face on a hot summer's day, the howling gale in the icy grip of winter, the salt drenched gust across your bow or, at times, it may be altogether absent. Still it lingers, blowing deeply to your soul.

This evening I went to the local art gallery. I'd seen most of the displays previously; various ceramic pieces, sculpted and molded. On installation was a whole room that people had "played in" and then left the ceramics/pottery alongside graffitied poetry and miscellaneous scraps. There was a textiles display as well.

The notable bit of the evening was the artist intervention done by Seema Goel. She was there this evening to introduce and discuss the room she curated. She decided to juxtapose a salon-style arrangement of landscape paintings with 1960's Inuit prints. Seema commented that in both instances the landscapes were romanticised: the landscapes, with their absence of people, came from an era when Europeans were transitioning from an agrarian culture into the industrial revolution -- the old landscape was what people wanted and inherently ownable; the Inuit prints, subjects devoid of landscape, represented the Inuit people who were resettled in the Canadian north -- the landscape being unownable perhaps via the peoples' once transitory lifestyle or the political forces at hand.

Of course, the WonderBread(R) sculptures were quite intriguing as well. Regardless, it was good to engage in the conversation she created.

I have a hard time knowing what to do with a compliment. Usually I offer an extremely introverted 'thank you' in response. If you want to see me squirm, just try it some day.

The odd thing is that, with my girlfriends, I'll use 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous' as nouns in my salutations. Perhaps I have become a little too flippant with this. Some days, sure, I think that maybe I've pulled the wardrobe and the hair together in some great package. Most days 'presentable' is simply good enough. So, what if, in the course of an average day, someone were to say you are very attractive or, even, you are gorgeous? Frankly I think I would want to argue the fact.

The same goes for work accomplishments. I've been told I'm highly accomplished, especially at my age. I've received national recognition from my peers...and folks wondered why I wasn't talking about it. I am just doing what I should be doing, what is expected. And if it's just expected then there's nothing to get overly excited about.

Expected. Maybe that's the key word here.

To the extent that young firstborn children are able to live up to their parents' high expectations, they reap precious rewards: praise and a sense that they really are special. They often become very skilled at knowing what their parents (and later, teachers and bosses) want them to do, and doing it.
Ironically, their very success often leads to anxiety: If being special hinges on performing up to high standards, what happens if they fail? To protect against this disaster, many firstborn children set even higher standards for themselves than their parents do, and, as a result, are rarely satisfied. Any success they achieve is not enough. Over and over, they must prove that they are not the failures they fear they might be. (Firstborns)

Have you ever had one of those moments were a complete stranger so vividly reminded you of yourself?
I was at work today, and things needed to get done, and I didn't end up taking my lunch break until everyone else was already back. I sat there, in the cafeteria, alone -- observing the pigeons outside and the people inside. And there she was. Perhaps only four or five. Inquisitive yet well mannered. Full of eagerness and vitality. While ever so independent still yearning for the interest and respect of those around her. And she looked just like I picture myself at her age. And her mannerisms were so familiar.
Today I saw myself as I once was and perhaps as I still am.

Yesterday evening I was awarded CSHP's New Hospital Practitioner Award. The person who introduced me, Donna (the coordinator of my hospital pharmacy residency), made it quite short and sweet. Essentially, "you can read about her in her modest bio but what you would read is the importance of faith in her practice." Fortunately, my acceptance speech [see continue reading] highlighted that point nicely. Afterwards, one individual commented that it was nice to see that I wore my faith on my sleeve and on the fact that I chose to include faith at all.
Later in the evening, I uncovered a suspected but unwanted fact about an old acquaintance ... in a relationship in which I'd worn my feelings on my sleeve. I affected me to the point where I walked back to my hotel. Thirty odd blocks. In the big city. On slush covered sidewalks. At 10:30 at night. In my boots with the pretty heels. I made it back safe and sound ... albeit my feet were rather sore and my mood not really that improved. Time to let go once again.

Today's forecast: Dense fog patches in the morning, lifting by late morning. Gradually warming throughout the day to above seasonal temperatures. Cloud cover breaking to reveal partially cloudy skies this afternoon.

Think way back to elementary school. If you were fortunate enough that you mother bought the mega-pack of crayons (the one with the built in sharpener), you may recall the colour periwinkle. It was my favourite.
The glowing-blue snow in the just-barely-there sunlight of early winter mornings is periwinkle.
I am not a morning person but there are elements of the early hours that touch my soul: sunrises over the prairies, glowing snow, the chatter of birds and the stillness of the world before all awaken.

I have been told that at the end of every day one should look for at least one thing they did well, one achievement, one success, one happy thought. While it is wished that on most days it will be easy to find an abundance of such moments, there are others where it is far more difficult. Some days you just have to have faith that that one thing is enough to get you to tomorrow.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
...
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

If you were to describe me, you might choose from the following adjectives:
Taking care of others: Understanding, Unquestioning, Humane, Selfless, Gentle, Kindhearted, Gullible, Indulgent
Curious: Original, Inventive, Thinker, Brave, Eccentric, Avant-Garde, Out-of-Touch, Unique
Responsive: Open, Accessible, Too Sensitive, Reachable, Candid, Unguarded
Focused yet Flexible: Casual, Informal, Compliant, Reliable, Organized, Solid, Dependable, Uncommitted, Genuine
Outgoing yet Reserved: Moderate, Amiable, Laid-back, Temperate, Relaxed, Poised, Civil, Uncommitted, Pleasant

"In a biblical relationship, commitment precedes intimacy... The man should show leadership and willingness to bear the risk of rejection by defining the nature and the pace of the relationship. He should do this before spending significant time alone with her in order to avoid hurting or confusing her."
Sex and the Supremacy of Christ, p 149

A few of you may have been fortunate quick enough to have caught my post from yesterday. It was a lamentful rant on a series of recent conversations with a particular individual. I was hurt and bewildered by the responses I was receiving. I took the post down, because it, like most things said in haste, shouldn't have been said at all. Or at least in this forum.
Clarity came in my church service today. The gist is that there's something to be said for praying for someone else to receive the thing that you yourself most desire.
I would really like a relationship. A certain relationship. I am frustrated by the current state of things with a certain individual.
And so, for the first year in a long time, I will make a new year's resolution (to keep at least for the first week). I will pray for my married friends, my dating friends and my single friends. Pray for their relationships ... with each other, with their families/loved ones, with their friends and with God.
God has given me the gift to serve, to wait on others. If I pray for your needs, God will give me patience in my desires. If I pray for your needs, as selfish as it sounds, it will likely bring me closer to my God. And closer to my God means closer to His plans. And that can never be a bad place to be.

Jared wrote recently...

But the funny thing about friends is that too often you only appreciate them when they are leaving. It’s only then that you realize they had become a significant part of your life, something you had relied on . . . and without them you feel a bit more rickety than you did before. You realize that you are just an old house on stilts that didn’t realize how important that stilt was until it fell. And now, without that friend, it’s a tricky balancing act to stay upright.

It's taken me all of today but it has finally happened. Two minutes ago I smiled. Not the sort of smile one puts on for public display or in order to provide a socially acceptable greeting. The smile that happens when all appears to be well with the world, when one is in the comforting cup of God's hand.
And I know, in that deepest place of my soul, that it is all ok. My world may not be just how I want it--my job may have stresses, Mr. Potential-Husband may not appeared on my doorstep with ring in hand, my company may have gone home and my future plans may all be up in the air--but, right now at this moment, I am fine with how things are.

If you look to the end of this post, you will notice that I have put it into the category "of my soul". At first glance, the content might seem cursory but there is a strong affinity in my being for the cursive.

Greg bemoaned the demise of cursive writing today as he recalled his moleskin journal that is without an adequate pen.

I have a shoebox of letters and cards stashed away at the top my closet. I also have a few emails that I have printed off for safe-keeping. The thoughts, sentiments and memories are similar between the two piles but the handwritten ones are of far more value for me. We could exchange a thousand e-mails but I will always cherish the card you wrote a few lines in, the postcard from your travels or the letter you sent when a phone call just wouldn't do.

There is something to be said for the texture of the paper, the flow of ink, the faint sound as nib scratches the delicate fibres. The tactility of the cursive art is so utterly important.

Your penmanship is unique to you; like the sound of your voice, the colour of your eyes or the way you walk into a room. A few jotted lines is more intimate than we realize and so often taken for granted. As I gaze at the way you form your a's, loop your g's and cross your t's; as I imagine you sitting with pen in hand, empty page before you; as I think of it's journey through the post ... I think of you.

It seems as though I'm coming up with a fair number of analogies lately. This last one comes as I should be preparing for my conference today and tomorrow.

Recall, if you will, the final scene from Bridget Jones' Diary. Bridget realizes her object of affection has just read her diary ... good and bad, with a lot of the latter. And what does she do? Does she trust that he will sort it all out, separating grain from chaff? Nope. She panics. She thinks that this inadvertent vulnerability is going to backfire. That once again she has done something to lose the guy she wants (and, whom may even like her in return).

Now, I didn't get this insight while watching the movie, but people relate to pop culture. I speak this to all of you; friends and family and strangers, guys and girls alike. Why is it so hard for me to be vulnerable, to tell people those deep bits of my soul, to risk it all? Sometimes I may not tell you something because I am scared. I don't want my secret to be the fatal flaw or the thing that makes us slowly grow apart. Because, well, it's happened before. So, here's my leap of faith: I will endeavor to trust you. Perhaps trust will overcome fear.

(This line of thought also reminds me of the Hamster Parable told by RLP.)

Back several churches ago, if one can measure time in that way, someone challenged a group of us to look for the signposts that God places in our lives. I was reminded of that as I walked home from Bible study this evening.

One of the blessings of living a block and a half from a farmer's field is that the city lights do not manage to obliterate the stars above. The art and science of using the heavens for navigation is surely waning. However, as I managed to pick out Ursa minor and Cassiopeia and Orion (and as the frigid air nipped at my nose while searching for the Pleiades), it struck me that these too are signposts.

One autumn, as I sat beside a quiet lake while a gentle breeze with the hint of winter whispered through the grasses at the waters edge, my first signpost was set: hunger. From there I set out to learn what it meant to hunger for God, to yearn, to crave, to desire.

This lead quite unobtrusively into the second signpost: fasting. This is why I have Isaiah 58 posted on the sidebar and by my kitchen sink. (The kitchen sink because I do enjoy washing dishes by hand--the location is a good reminder.) True fasting shows itself in our attitudes and actions.

I will always show you where to go. I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—firm muscles, strong bones. You'll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. You'll be known as those who can fix anything, restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate, make the community livable again.

The most recent signpost is that of taking a Sabbath. God has taught me to desire, to pursue, to set aside my worldly supports--now God is teaching me to entrust time to the One who is beyond time. I've said recently that my time is not my own; that my schedule is so chock full of meetings and to-do lists and engagements that I do not have time for me. I think that the first half of my statement is more true than I realize ... it is not my time to begin with but rather I have been entrusted with time in the same way I have been entrusted with material possessions. And I should not be surprized that there are guidelines for this thing called time; that in regular cyclical form I should be required to take a period of rest. It is a requirement, a commandment, one I do not regularly abide by.

EE Cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

A few years ago, my small group Bible study used a course in which each week's topic was entitled with a myth. One of the title's was "It's all about me". Our group quickly attached themselves to this motto. As members of the group move away, they are given a token keepsake with the said motto emblazened upon it. I have a most wonderful mug.

The thing is that while I know it's not all about me, I often forget about one of the little words in the midst of that statement: all. Some of it is about me.

Last night I had a dream about war. I owned a restaraunt. One night all my friends came and I made a fantastic meal and fluttered between tables ensuring their needs were met. The second night was open to the public. People came and had the same treat for their tastebuds and outstanding service. The only difference was that there were bombs going off in the distance. I knew, intellectually, that it was between Syria and Lebannon. And from the map in my head, I must have been in Israel facing south ... the way the other two countries subtly wrap around the border. The thing was that it didn't matter that war was just beyond a line on a map; life carried on as it always had.

Application then? It's not all about me. Each individual is not an island unto his/herself. Our community is far beyond a line on a map or the box into which we place ourselves. The fact is that people are watching you closely. We are all experiential learners--someone, somewhere will repeat what you have done. And what will you do when it happens?

On the cloudy grey day that was today, there were but two moments of glorious light; one figurative, one literal.

This morning, one of the coordinators came in with her new daughter -- baby Georgia. (Georgia is now one of my new favourite baby names.) She was passed around to various folks as babies often are; all ohh-ing and ahh-ing appropriately. There is something remarkable about children: they tap into a corner of everyone's soul and joy quickly permeates the room. When the opportunity presented itself, I held the new little wonder for the rest of her visit; she and I in our own little world ... she nestling contentedly in the crook of my arm, I marveling and growing ever contented myself. I think they just might have noticed if I "borrowed" her for a while. This morning, Georgia was my little ray of light.

I had relocated my workspace today to one beside a window and had the priviledge of witnessing hours of of gentle rain. Late this afternoon, I found myself squinting and not quite knowing why. A few moments later I realized that all things grey and been enveloped in sunlight poking through partly cloudy skies. Autumn is my favourite season: crisp mornings, flickering white butterflies, medolious songbirds and evenings that bask in rich golden sunlight. The skies are once again shrouded in dark blue-grey cover, but, this afternoon, I was offered my second ray of light.

Two phone conversations over the past couple of weeks have gotten me thinking; perhaps settling for a boyfriend/mate/husband/significant-other is not the evil I once made it out to be.

I'm sure you recall those many conversations with close friends about how one should never ever settle when it comes to a potential partner. You have your list of ideals and don't you ever stray from it. And certainly don't give in when there appear to be no other options circling your boat, itching for that line to be cast into the water.

I know I'm treading on dangerous ground here and I can imagine that many of you are already up in arms wanting to chop my fingers off so I'll quit typing; but what if we aren't supposed to have the knight in shining armor? Is slightly tarnished still ok? After all, while we may be looking for the decendant of a Greek god, he is not going to be god and thus will not be perfect. He (or she, if you're wanting to flip the tables) will have flaws.

For example, maybe a "must have" is Christian faith. As you get to know the fellow of interest (he of course has the afore mentioned must have), you begin to wonder if his faith is as central to his being as you would like or if he has the potential to be the Godly husband your heart longs for. So maybe this guy meets all the points on that "must have" list you've been revising since you discovered boys don't have cooties, but maybe the string of adjectives before each requirement isn't lining up. (He's not as _____ as you would like.)

Maybe a knight is still a knight despite the appearance of his armor. I'm beginning to think that settling just might be ok after all.

Song of the day: I am aglow - Sarah Harmer (listen)

RLP:

A burning bush would be nice. Moses got one, and he wasn’t even a nice guy. He was on the lam at the time, running from a murder rap back in Egypt. So why can’t a nice guy like me get a burning bush every once in awhile?

I want to see God and to know God’s presence. I want to see God in a clear, unambiguous way that cannot be misunderstood or misinterpreted. And there is something about the clarity that a God-fire in the wilderness provides. You see it. You smell it. You hear it. Yes, that is God. No doubt about it.

Continue reading

There is no kind of loneliness more lonely than when no one in the world knows who you are. When there is no one waiting to see the tender and fragile thing you pull out of your chest like taking a hamster out of its cage. There is no one there, but you know what it would be like.

"Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better."
- Andre Gide

Thank God for Tupperware. That's not supposed to be sacrilegious in the least. Let me explain.

Exactly one week ago I hosted a Tupperware party. Remember those fantastic events that your mother took you to as a child? Wonderful afternoons of playing with the neighbour kid and eating loads of cheese and crackers and handfuls of squares. Well, I guess it was inevitable that I too should some day grow up and have my own Tupperware party. (There was only one wee one in attendance at my party however.)

The reason I say 'thank God for Tupperware' is not because of the durable product, the great warranty, or even the free stuff I got from hosting. You see, the thing about hosting such a party is one require people to attend such a party. And frankly, I often feel very alone and without community after nearly a year in my current locale. Now, looking back at last Friday, I realize that I do indeed have community. It's not necessarily what I intended it to look like, and there are still missing pieces, but that doesn't make it any less of a community.

And that is one blessing I've counted every day this past week.

Today's sermon was on 1 Timothy 5:1-16 ... a passage that discusses relationships within the family unit and the church family, most notably about widows.

The point was made that marriage is the default state, as opposed to singleness or, in the above setting, widowhood. I take exception to that statement when taken at face value. Simply put, singleness is one's permanent vocation, and marriage is transitory. The church is the bride of Christ; the Christian is, first and foremost, married to Christ. This will always be the default state. Singleness, when considered in the vernacular, is the solitary person. Solitude in Christ never negates the presence of God but enhances it. Marriage, in the vernacular, is the covanent binding of two individuals. If you never comprehend your solitude (your marriage to Christ), you will never fully comprehend human marriage.

Since our human existence is fleeting, should we not seek to first understand our role as the bride of Christ before desiring a spouse?

Then back to Timothy; think of many of the older widows in the church. Stereotypically, they often pour themselves into the church. They pray unceasingly. They mentor the youth. They support the church family. They model marriage to Christ. Will the widows of tomorrow share their values? Will they have the same foundation? How are we preparing ourselves now?

Last week, at my regular Bible study, we had a guest speaker. (The one who used the marriage analogy.) He is the provincial church guy and goes around providing support and direction to conference churches. He was invited to discuss church membership with our young adult group.
I think the meaning of church membership is slightly skewed. Back when I became a member (not at the church of my current attendance), it was not something I embraced. At that time, I was unable to get the reasoning behind why church membership was important. And since I knew baptism was a Biblical mandate, and since baptism and membership were entwined at said church, I became a member.
At Bible study, we finally got to what I think is the crux of the matter: responsibility. Certainly, one can attend regularly and serve/volunteer in many capacities and be loyal ... but should members have a higher responsibility? Torch has long been frustrated by "The Church™". His latest post points to the fact that They will know we are Christians by our love just may be a gross misnomer. We, who use the label 'Christian', have failed to maintain a higher standard of behaviour.
A line from my Bible's prelude to Habbukuk reads "God’s people are held to a higher standard because they have greater revelation." I remember the same idea being mentioned in "The Imitation of Christ".
Despite all the failings in this collection of believers we call the church, it is through membership that we are compelled to spur one another on, to admonish, to build up, to rebuke, to teach, and to forgive. Transformation of the church will not occur if we turn our backs with disgust.

(note I said things and not people ... perhaps I'll make a hero list sometime soon)

God: not just a thing ... probably belongs on the afore mentioned hero list

TV shows: The Hour (mostly because I luv George's presentation - it's news with an edge ... he'll get his own post later), Numb3rs (it's a show about math - need I say more?)

Flowers: persian buttercups (aka ranuculus) and white daisies and Gerber daisies and zinnias

Smells: rain, soil, sawdust and chainsaw fuel (mmmm, gas and oil), bread, the above mentioned flowers, home

Tidbits: on a variety of things, usually found in books or from good discussions (current fascinations include number theory, sociology, theology)

Books: I should probably include my current reading list as well ... Deep Simplicity, Solitaire, RealLivePreacher.com, Theology of the Body (and TOTB Explained), The Imitation of Christ, Mister God this is Anna, Chasing the Dragon, Captivating, Blue Like Jazz

Music: the list grows ever longer, but in no particular order: Feist, Franz Ferdinand, Death Cab for a Cutie [amazing concert with FF last month], Tree63, Jack Johnson, U2, KT Tunstall, Cat Jahnke (someone I knew once in high school), Arcade Fire, Jeremy Camp, CCR (or here), Hillsong, Jamiroquai, Maroon5, Newsboys

Here I am; home for the holidays. I have mixed feelings about the title of this post. For while I am home, with family and friends, this place is not entirely my hometown...there is a certain small town up past PA where many of my formative childhood years were spent. I digress--I am now "home".
This morning, my parents left for their ritual Saturday morning breakfast and groceries without waking me up to see if I'd like to join them (as I typically do when I come home for a weekend). When I finally rolled out of bed, they were gone and the sibbling was still fast asleep. So, getting myself together, I set out on a grand adventure--by foot, of course.

Here I am in Banff ... surrounded by towering mountains, breathing the crisp air, consistently encountering nature. The conference has been good. They included a discussion of generational diversity in the workplace. I find myself split between the profile of the GenX (born 1965-1980) and the Nexters (born 1980 onwards). Yet both generations have a desire for authority to be proven, to show credibility and also only tend to stay in a position for 2ish years before considering other employment (although they leave for different reasons).
Despite having a bit over a week to visit old friends and reconnecing with old colleagues, I am craving solitude once again. This I discussed with old friend over dinner. Having moved a few years ago, his social life is markedly different from what it was. Now content to work and come home to watch CNN, having social activities multiple times per week is no longer a necessity or even desired. We have become comfortable with solitude -- even to the point of actively seeking it.
So, despite wonderful surroundings, I will now venture back to my hotel room to read or flip through the random TV channels or perhaps even have a nap. If adventurous, I may let thoughts grow deep and attempt to capture them on paper so that some day I may reread those words and have my thoughts run off on new and exciting tangents.

I came across this program to compare how you see me and how I see myself (aka a Johari window). I'd appreciate it if you would take a moment to describe me. Thanks for helping out.

Not that I've actually seen Must Love Dogs, but the premise of the movie is meeting someone on the internet for purposes of friendship/dating. While dog-lover wasn't on my list, God-lover certainly was. I briefly described my match earlier, and after a week of getting to know one another in text, we actually met for coffee this afternoon. A very nice guy with whom I share many similarities. Not having an activity, like bowling or mini-golf, our conversation occassionally came to a pause but was able to resume without too much difficulty. Future meetings were not arranged, but the possibility thereof was left open.
So there you have it. This girl has gone on her very first date in her entire life (and a quasi-blind first date at that). All in all things went smoothly, the coffee and conversation were enjoyable, and this whole first-date thing isn't so hard after all. Not a bad way to start off the week.

I found some new acquaintances last night. This last Sunday, I decided to go back to a church I'd visited shortly after moving. It truly felt like home. Comfortable, like pulling on the favourite pair of jeans. In the bulletin, there were two things that caught my attention: 1) a women's retreat in February and 2) a "career care" group. I decided that I'd go to the women's retreat. I'd always had a blast and met some incredible women on retreats with my previous church. I also decided to find out what this career care group was all about. It turned out to be a small group for young adults beyond the university years. Something like twentysixthirtysix in Saskatoon. So I went on Wednesday. The leaders and two other young adults were in attendance. At the end, Kelly invited my to a girls movie night ... hence, my new acquaintances.
It's likely that Shakespeare in Love had some effect on my subconscious. After falling asleep on the couch and awaking at 6, then crawling into bed, I had my dream. There were friends and new people to meet. In particular there were two young men. The first I knew was not the one, but there was fun in the chase. In the second, the was angst due in part to the duality that existed. Just before I awoke, he had led me to a spot where we could talk. I stubbornly came along -- for some reason being hurt and upset. When we sat, I asked two questions, and both answers were yes. The first was 'do you hate me?' and the second 'do you love me?'. Then he said the most remarkable thing, the thing that has stuck with me all morning now: And I think the same could be said of you.
What this all means, I am not sure. I'm still searching for community. I'd love to find someone to date. (Even though a certain site has yet to find me a match ... wait, I checked my spam email, and I do have a match. Due to my fantastic internet sleuthing skills, and his user name (first name?) and profession, I now have his work address, phone and email. I may have his home address and phone number. All this is a little creepy, I know. Maybe I should get my eyes checked if my benefits have kicked in at work.) OK, so that last little bit totally derailed my train of though (hee hee, a pun) and took away from the seriousness of it all.
I do want community, although I want define what that community will be. I try not to recreate past community, but every so often I find myself slipping back into old habits. And so, I've gotten involved. Likely far too involved for my own good sometimes. But it's a good way to meet folks.
All that being said, there's now a rumbling in my tummy and a morning haziness that is easily cured with a fresh pot of coffee. I'm sure there's more to come.

I miss having roots -- community. I left home and had a difficult time settling in, despite finding a group of peers (single, professional, Christian, 20-something females). Then, I up and moved two years later and am trying to start again. And I know the process will take years, but it's best to get involved. And so here I am. Feeling slightly overwhelmed with what I have taken on.
Spiritually, I find myself doubting more things than ever before. While I comprehend things on an intellectual level, I have ceased to grasp them in my heart. But I've come to realize that faith and doubt are not exclusive of each other ... such is my paradox. So I read widely and try to ask good questions and wrestle with God.
The job: as relatively new in my profession, I theoretically should not have the job with the program I do. My inexperience means that I will constantly be questioned by my peers, my patients and myself. It's also full of politics. A good challenge, nonetheless.
To sum up, I'm a doubting, inexperienced individual seeking community. What experience I do have tells me this is precisely the place God wants me to be and the place in which I will grow the most.

Firstly, my apologies for not writing all that frequently.
Thanksgiving was amazing ... it was so comforting to be able to spend time with my friends so effortlessly. And it was wonderful to be with my family.
As you know, I've recently started a new job working with renal (kidney) transplant patients. I've also just barely begun my new role as education coordinator for a provincial branch of a national professional organization.
All this has kept me busy, but it hasn't been the main reason behind my absence. In fact, I've been dealing with some deep matters of faith. Perhaps my first glimpse was many months ago when I had a split second doubt about the Bible. I'd gone through the process many times before in an intellectual manner -- rather in tune with basic apologetics. But at that moment, it was a matter of the soul.
More recently, I've tried to explore my Anabaptist roots -- to understand the Reformation and what made individuals split from the Catholic church and convince others to do the same.
And now I think I am catching a glimpse of "the dark night of the soul". Not that I have yet read St. John Of the Cross' book, but I think I am experiencing, as one reviewer put it, "a prolonged crisis of the inward self which either leads to destruction or rebirth".

Here are bits and pieces, random thoughts, which may very well mean more to me than to you. However, I'll put them down without explanation. Please excuse me if I don't write again for a while -- I have some journeys to take. At the moment, I need to do this alone ... just me and God.

Perhaps it's a bit like a metaphor. I want to be noticed, accepted, befriended, loved perhaps. I want relationship. Yet, my own pursuit of God has been silent for so long now. Not that I could effect something by putting the reverse into play ... time with God will not give way to pursuit by my knight in shining armor. Still, it hit me all of a sudden -- a parallel has been drawn. The pain, loneliness, confusion, sadness and aching I feel while hoping for relationship ... God spends every second of everyday to capture my attention. God, too, longs to be pursued, to be loved.

"Something sent its roots down deep into [Eve's] soul--and ours--that mistrust of God's heart, that resolution to find life on our own terms. So God has to thwart her. In love, he has to block her attempts until, wounded and aching, she turns to him and him alone for her rescue." (Captivating, ch 6)

"If you can't find me, loveliest of all women, it's all right." (Song of Songs, 1:8, The Message)

"People who doubt can have great faith because faith is something you do, not something you think. In fact, the greater your doubt, the more heroic your faith.
I learned that it doesn't matter in the least that I be convinced of God's existence. Whether or not God exists is none of my business, really. ...
What does matter is whether or not I am faithful. I think "faithful" is a hell of a good word. It still has some of its original shine. It still calls us to action." (reallivepreacher.com, "The Preacher's story", Gordon Atkinson)

OK, so Under the Tuscan Sun was a girlie movie with a somewhat gagging ending, but the whole ladybug analogy has stayed with me. Although the analogy is made with reference to finding a mate -- the finding often comes easier when one doesn't look -- I've come to connect it to any opportunity.
Today, I had a day off (due to working the weekend) and wandered outside with my camera. After a few shots of leaves and grass and weeds (they are on flickr if you want to take a look), I found myself a ladybug. I at once took a tonne of photos of my new found friend, most of which were not all that good/flattering.
More on the ladybug=analogy bit later once things are a bit more settled. However, it does look like things may be changing ever so slightly.
It is amazing how sunshine and nature can make everything else deliquesce.

It seems that whenever change, massive amounts of change, is about to happen I develop a proportional amount of doubt.
For instance, my upcoming move and job change.

I wonder if I'll even like my job. And if I'm not satisfied in my new job, is it mostly my attitude or is it that my profession isn't my passion?

I fret about finding a new place to live and trying to sublet my current place.

I question why I'm leaving a church that I absolutely love.

I wonder about my friendships that I've cultivated over the past two years, and some that I've begun only in the past few months.

I have been agonizing over a future career decision for a few days now. Last night, in a discussion with a few friends and acquaintances, the topic came up and one person comments on my apparent lack of enthusiasm for my self-declared top option. It's true, I am being very hesistant about this decision.
I spoke with another good friend this evening who told me that I had already made up my mind. That is also true.
After that conversation, and in the moments that have since passed, I think I can boil up my hesitation into the concept that I am now facing an inevitable deep sense of loss.
Decision A moves me to a new city with much improved job satisfaction but away from newly formed friendships. Decision B keeps me in an ever increasingly familiar city with relatively new friends but in a position of likely less job satisfaction. That is what it comes down to; loss of friendships and familiarity or loss of career fulfillment.
That statement isn't really fair. Decision A moves me to a city in which an old friend now lives, and to a city conveniently placed midway between current city and city of family and old friends. Therefore, friendships aren't really lost. Familiarity might be lost, but is also quite easily regained.
That leaves career fulfillment. I am not anticipating finding that in my current location, despite potential options. Perhaps I am not open to seeing any positive potential options.

Enough. My body is tired. It aches. It long for some unnamed, maybe untangible, thing. I want to be resigned. Yet something within causes me to press on, plod on. Persevere. Despite exhaustion. Weariness. Wit's end. Despite desperately not wanting to deal with, I have a desperate desire, a longing, to deal with "it".

I miss the days when this quiet desperation was unbridled optimism.

I've said before that it is all about the relationships. In that, the key ingredients are time and communication.

My regrets for blatant hypocrisy.

* Christmas cards/letters ... I have amazing friends who are doing amazing things and who send a note from time to time to remind me that they think I'm amazing too.
* splagxnizomai - a deep, gut-wrenching compassion ... As Jesus touched the lepper, He too can touch the ugly bits of me (Mark 1:40-45)
* Isaiah 58:11 "I will always show you where to go. I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places..."
* Home-made lemon chicken and stir-fry veggies at my house on Sunday! (Letting me know that you're coming would be appreciated)

Lord, teach me to be generous.
Teach me to serve you as you deserve;
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labor and not to ask for reward,
save that of knowing that I do your will.

Erik Benson: trapped by your own desire to stay

Next time you think you're trapped somewhere, or wish you were somewhere else, just tell yourself that the only reason that you're trapped is because you want to stay. In so many ways lately, I've been noticing odd behavior from people who know what they want and yet refuse to go after it. ...

thanks to caro for the link

Caro posted her confessions of growing up. My comment was more of a personal confesison, than I comment, but I left it there none the less. Then I figured I leave some of it here.

Mark had a great post this week about the complexities of life and living in the grey areas.
This week I've been overly frustrated - I'll blame part of it on a large dose of insomnia and a pinch of PMS. I'm frustrated with my job. I'm frustrated because everything is status quo, and I hate that. There's no excitement about going that extra mile. And I find myself slipping into mediocrity.
And, yes, trust me ... the question of should I even be a Rx-ist has crossed my mind a million times lately.
So, why did I mention Mark's post. Because I struggle with longing for contentment and simplicity. I want everything to come together like a well oiled machine. And all the while I'm not quite sure if it's ever going to be possible.

On a new note, apparently there was snow in downtown Wpg on this week. This morning I wore a touque, scarf and mittens ... it was a balmy +2 degrees outside for my walk to work.

I saw The King and I at Rainbow Stage (an outdoor covered theatre) ... not bad, but rather cold and windy and the first half was a little slow. (Not to mention the distracting 'shiny diaper pants' on the king ... you had to be there.)

purpose [per'pes] -n- 1. something one intends to get or do; plan; aim; intention 2. an object or end of which a thing is made, done, used

... of my life
to love

... of God
I may never know -- and really, that's not quite the right question to be asking

... of this blog
to create yet another mask for which you can look at me by -- I dare not bare all, sometimes not even to myself
it's sort of like the moon - most of us only see one side of the moon, a select few have seen the other side, and no one knows it in entirety
and for yet another simile, the end result is like looking through a piece of wavy glass - the object is still visible, yet very much distorted

.... of my career
The Oath of Maimonides
Thy eternal providence has appointed me to watch over the life and health of Thy creatures. May the love for my art actuate me at all times; may neither avarice nor miserliness, nor thirst for glory, or for a great reputation engage my mind; for the enemies of truth and philanthropy could easily deceive me and make me forgetful of my lofty aim of doing good to Thy children. May I never see in the patient anything but a fellow creature in pain. Grant me strength, time and opportunity always to correct what I have acquired, always to extend its domain; for knowledge is immense and the spirit of man can extend infinitely to enrich itself daily with new requirements. Today he can discover his errors of yesterday and tomorrow he may obtain a new light on what he thinks himself sure of today. O, God, Thou hast appointed me to watch over the life and death of Thy creatures; here am I ready for my vocation, and now I turn unto my calling.

I very well may have blogged on this topic before, but it has been haunting me for some time now. So after some procrastination (a French pedicure, some laundry and general house cleaning, dinner, and watching Jamie Oliver's new series) I have plopped myself down in front of the computer with a Coke and Josh Groban's Closer and am determined to get this thing written.

I happen to think I'm a darn good pharmacist. And, at times, I truly enjoy being a pharmacist. I'm just not sure I'm completely passionate about being a pharmacist--and somewhere in my deep dark recesses I seem to think I should be passionate about what I do.

I'm not confident in the fact that I'm doing what God wants me to be doing (more on this later), but I trust that He will use what I am doing in His plan. I don't know if I'm right, but I've formulated the idea that God wants us where we are fully using the talents and abilities He has endowed us with. Perhaps my problem exists as I blur the line between my definitions of passionate and passion and passions and calling and vocation.

And I've been reading Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest, and for 3 days in a row (August 3-5) Chambers has discussed purpose. A few excerts...

The great thing to remember is that we go up to Jerusalem to fulfill God's purpose, not our own.
At the beginning of the Christian life we have our own ideas as the what God's purpose is--"I am meant to go here or there," "God has called me to do this special work"; and we go and and do the things, and still the big compelling of God remains. The work we do is of no account, it is as much scaffolding compared with the big compelling of God.

... if you have let Him bring you to the end of your self-sufficiency then He can choose you to go with Him to Jerusalem, and that will mean the fulfilling of purposes which He does not discuss with you.
As Christians we are not out for our own at all, we are out for the cause of God, which can never be our cause. We do not know what God is after, but we have to maintain our relationship with Him whatever happens.
The main thing about Christianity is not the work we do, but the relationship we maintain and the atmosphere produced by that relationship.

The call of God can never be stated explicitly; it is implicit. The call of God is like the call of the sea, no one hears it but the one who has the nature of the sea in him. It cannot be stated definitely what the call of God is to, because His call is to be in comradeship with Himself for His own purposes, and the test is to believe that God know what He is after. The things that happen do not happen by chance, they happen entirely in the decree of God. God is working out His purposes.
If we are in communion with God and recognize that He is taking us into His purposes, we shall no longer try to find out what His purposes are. As we go on in the Christian life it gets simpler, because we are less inclined to say--Now why did God allow this and that? Behind the whole thing lies the compelling of God. "There's a divinity that shapes our ends." A Christian is one who trusts the wits and the wisdom of God, and not his own wits. If we have a purpose of our own, it destroys the simplicity and the leisureliness which ought to characterize the children of God.

So that's that. I still question my materialism. I don't understand why I take my family and friends for granted. I regret that so often I fail to allow God first priority. I do not want to live with these regrets--or any regrets for that matter.

UPDATED ... see extended entry

So most of you who know me know that I generally love those ice-breaker games when you have to tear off toilet paper or grab gummy bears (gotta love alliteration), and then have to say something about yourself for each square of toilet paper or gummy bear in your hands. I love taking lots, not because I like to talk about myself, but I really want to get to know people. I figure if I provide an array of scintillating tidbits, then there should be some common ground for the basis of future conversations.
I think some people figure that I share a bit too much - and, quite honestly, that same thought has crossed my own mind. But it's mainly just superficial fluff - my mask, if you will.
This whole thing has been a prologue. A prologue to a potential post that was an email in another life. An email that was the answer to, 'how's your heart?'. As I wrote my response to that question, many things were straightened out for me. As though the issue was worked through. In the end I was able to say that my heart was well.
I'm still not sure about posting my response. It would need names and places omitted and quite a bit of editting before I felt comfortable putting it up for the world. But that's how I am. Fairly selective about what I let out - despite appearances to the contrary.

I promised some details of my camping adventures. Essentially, driving between provinces provided a decent amount of time for deep conversations. One of them went something like this:

Taking one extreme to its completion, treating medical conditions like high blood pressure or diabetes is life-support. While some people have moral/ethical objections to machines that keep people alive, for example in the ICU (respirators to keep you breathing, dialysis machines when your kidneys can't filter out enough crap, and defibrilators and pacemakers to keep your heart ticking), treatment for less acute illness rarely is questioned these days. However, the goal of any medical treatment is either to prolong life or to improve quality of life.

Quality of life is a whole other discussion that didn't take place on a road somewhere in Saskatchewan. It was the intervention into length of life that I wished to talk about. I questioned whether or not it was appropriate for myself, as a health care professional, to be so presumptuous as to play god in this manner. Who am I to esteem a long life? Now an answer was not found under the prairie sky that day, but these are the questions and points that still remain:

(1) Whether God causes illness and/or allows illness, presumably it's all a part of 'the plan'. (Perhaps the presence or lack of "the plan's" existence/necessity is worth a discussion in the future.)
(2) Presumably God could/would intervene at any point and allow or disallow a medical intervention to an individual, according to 'the plan'.
(3) People should use their gifts, talents, abilities and knowledge to do good unto others. (Again, is prolonging life a good thing?)
(4) Is there a line in medical treatment that should not be crossed when it comes to length of life? (How does one treat chronic conditions [heart disease, blood pressure, kidney disease, diabetes, mental illness, thyroid disease etc] vs acute ones [infection, trauma]? Is there (should there be) a difference when it comes to treating the young vs the old? What if a person choose not to treat a chronic condition and now they end up in hospital with a complication? What about life support?)

I don't have answers. I don't know if there should be answers. But an answer would sure be nice.

Despite that it is now days after the summer solstice, a strong arctic system channels a steady icy breeze over the latitudes, further cooled by large bodies of water in its path. I blinked and missed summer. Faint memories of sticky hot afternoons and paddling pools are being overwhelmed with the present need for sweaters and slippers during the day and a thick blanket for night.
And I think this tree is dying. The tree that so patiently has kept watch over me these past few weeks. The one which lures me to sleep each night with the lullaby of wind in its branches. The one so gallant, so steady, so enduring.
It has survived years of sun and rain and wind and snow. Countless birds and dogs and cats and small children have left their mark. It is caught somewhere between spring and autumn.
A mixture of pale spring green and hints of autumn reds and oranges. A kaleidoscope erupts as sunlight and shadows dance through the gentle swaying of branches. Then all is muted once again as rainclouds slowly drown out the last rays of sunlight on this tree, not yet in its prime.

My paper journal entry from last night:

I'm scared/anxious a lot these days. I have mini-panic attacks gonig through intersections with red lihgt cameras. The thought of taking out a loan for the first time in my life worries me - has become somewhat of a preoccupation. I'm concerned that my actions are speaking louder than words to my friends/acquaintances. ...
And the list could continue. But honestly - I feel overwhelmed by it all. It seems as though I've done a month full of nothing. As though I haven't done anything meaningful or relaxing or anything to better myself. I've blundered away an awful lot of time. *sigh* Now I'm beating myself up over it all.
Perhaps I (with some Godly assistance) can do better tomorrow.

I have never really handled time off very well. Perhaps it's more that I don't always handle time very well.
I'm great at procrastination .... perhaps I should remember this as a personal flaw for my next job interview. I have a PDA and I can schedule appointments and meetings and social events quite well. I think the problem occurs when I schedule too much for others and have no time scheduled for myself.

At the moment, I find myself with a month to fill.

ah oui ... le garçon à Boston Pizza ... il est un flirt.
"Garçon .... ma nacho ... elle est naked."

That was Friday after work. Janice and I worked until 7:30 and then decided we needed some nourishment. Wings and nachos make an excellent dinenr. Despite the fact that they are so not healthy. It was a lot of fun (but, no, we didn't actually tell the server our nachos were naked).

Saturday I waited around to show people my apartment. I also made a pan of cinnamon buns. I think cooking is very therapeutic for me.

Today is Sunday.
Today I wonder what I'm doing, where I'm going.
Today I wonder about my life. If these were just my choices or if I le