Don't Even Get Me Started

If I was only allowed to express anger or frustration over one thing for the rest of my life, it would be over this:

Networks of Sex Trade (hyperlink)

Trust me, you don't want to see me this angry. So instead...

[silence]

sometimes anger leaves one speechless

Phone Camera

Friday Night Lights...

Quote of the weekend

[On the walk back from a coffee shop]

My friend, Josh: "Oh, did I tell you that my grandmother passed away?"
Me: "No. Recently?"
Josh: "Yeah, just a few days ago. I'm doing okay because I got to say my goodbyes."
Me: "Yeah. That's good."
Josh: "When it happened I text messaged everyone that knew she was sick. And a few of them said..."
Me [interrupting]: "Wait. You didn't text message me."
Josh: "I didn't? Sorry. I didn't know I'd talked about her to you."
Me [unsympathetically indignant, oops]: "Uh, yep, I talked to you the day before you went to visit her and then debriefed with you when you got back."
Josh [without skipping a beat]: "Sorry. You're my journal and just like most journals go, I forget when and what I last wrote."
[So true.]

Nice save, Josh. Thanks for the laugh. I'll try to more sympathetic in the future. :wink:

This weather could not be more glorious!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Created for such a time as this...

The David of the Bible so unabashedly called upon the LORD, the Lord of Hosts, to curse his enemies and bring Israel victory in battle. I don’t know about you, but half of the book of Psalms seems like something straight out of King Arthur or Braveheart which, while those are inspiring movies for boy and girl alike, is not exactly a life I relate with. The words of great wisdom and strength pronounced from the mouths of bold, buff, and courageous men in armor is something I’d like to see, but never will in my stock exchange and engineering male friends. Likewise, the grace, poise and long, flowing hair of each heroine is a seemingly absurd standard to achieve in a city like Chicago, where the pulse and energy of corporate is bound to knock any women off the track of a balanced, beautiful life.

Okay, I’m getting off topic…

The God David portrays in the Psalms is cool, but since I don’t have men in armor and swords at their hips (nor am I king) knocking on my door, albeit even friend or foe, I have to say I tune out until I hear (or read) David exclaiming over the Lord’s faithfulness or the majesty of the mountains. Well, that is to say, until now…

I found this great, new church. I have only gone their once, during a mid-week service, but I know it’s great…I just do. It’s called Chicago Tabernacle and it’s located in North Centre, supposedly the old Ravenswood neighborhood. (Means little to me too. I just got here.) I’ll skip the expose on the heart-stirring, soul-lifting manner in which they usher in the presence of God in prayer and worship. Call me if you want to hear about; or rather, go check it out for yourself.

A brief history lesson about this ethnically diverse congregation. It was begun in 2001, by Pastor Al and Chrissy Toledo, who previously oversaw a church in the Bronx of New York, but felt called to Chicago, to start a church plant.

Back to me :smile:…Living (and breathing) the South Side of Chicago and all its many quirks, pleasures, and disparities, I have increasingly felt it necessary that I return to a church like the one which nurtured me in Grand Rapids, Madison Square, and which whole-heartedly believes in the God of the Nations. (And I didn’t get a degree in International Relations for some unimpassioned reason.) So, the prayers and testimonies and songs of this congregation resonate with my experience.

(I am not a “young urban professional” as one may stereotypically conjure. In fact, I am the literal of all three of those words. I am more yuppie than yuppie can be. I am young. I am urban. And I am professional (well, most hours of the day). I’m sorry, but the white, young, evangelical, seeker-sensitive church does not speak to my world. I don’t make these comments with contempt…at all. It’s taken me awhile to realize that on Sunday morning or Thursday evening…I don’t “fit” in these churches. Ironic really, since 95% of the people I socialize with and “fit” with 95% of my week, do appreciate these churches and “fit” just fine.:shrug:)

Back to Bible David…Last Thursday night the associate pastor of Chicago Tabernacle “brought it home,” so to speak in His (yes, capital “h”) message on Psalm 23. Despite all the Sunday School lessons on the famous shepherd passage, my attention was sustained. (You know, if the Bible had only one verse, Psalm 23:1 “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” we really would be set for life. But, the Lord graced us with many more passages and stories.)

See, random, senseless violence is a thing of my (albeit, new) world. My “coffee guy", who brought me to life most mornings with a smile, a smooth line, and a warm cup of caffeine, was murdered this weekend in his apartment. 29 years old. The CTA bus shooting just 10 days ago affected the very same demographic I speak with each day. The bank robbery that has made Chicago’s headlines for 2 days now and reaped pictures that could send chills down everyone’s spin…yeah, that’s our bank. It’s just a few blocks away. Police stormed my building at 12:30 a.m. Monday night in a case of domestic violence. A neighbor, who was a better Samaritan than the rest of us who ignored the “help!” cries of some panicked woman, called the police. Another neighbor let the police into the building. And, there have been three shootings in just one month on my block. (My Bronzeville block in back, not my Hyde Park block in front, for those who know where I live.)

I realized that night in the pew of Chicago Tabernacle that I do know the God of Great Battle expressed by David. The battle I encounter is often invisible. It’s wrapped in Insecurity, Fear, and Hatred. It’s less organized and the front lines blur and move. But, it’s still battle.

Those very same battle Psalms of David almost always end in thanks to the Lord for His great faithfulness and provision, even in the times when we do not know we are being provided for…or being protected.

Anyways…I am thankful today for the God of Great Battle who has protected me. And pray against the enemies of this city, whose desire is to overcome the streets and kill our kids.

(I’ll have you know, I am not some great spiritual. Rather, I forced myself to spend time in thankfulness because today I have been anything but thankful. I’ve wallowed my morning away and I want to enjoy the rest of today.)

i have a very big crush...

...on this little man. Isn't he cute? Thanks to Vince and Shezelle this little dude frequents my office. His trucks and trains fly nicely over the big expanse of concrete floor. :-)

water has been the theme...

With the weather warming up, I seem to be spending at least every sunny down at the lakefront. In choosing an apartment, its accessibility to the lake was never a factor I considered, and yet in the Lord's providence, (and I mean that), he knew I'd need these moments along the lake to keep my sanity.) I landed an apartment just three blocks for the lakefront, on a street that has a bridge right over the Drive. And, at a time when much reflection was and is needed, the waterfront is a great place to catch a breath, think, and exercise.

Over the last few months, I have been journeying with Hannah Hurnand through the land of mountains and valleys in her book "Hinds Feet on High Places". It's a book I've read before, but stashed back on the shelf for another unforseen moment when I would receive that inner, unexplainable urge to pick it up again.

The final chapters of the book recount the circumstance and place that inspired Hurnand to write the book - the waterfalls of the Swiss mountains. For me, the lakefront as an unexpected joy combined with the candid, vivid writing of an author who brings soul out of everyday living, I have begun to think about the ability of water to transform lots of things, including my life.

In my recounts, I have been surprised by the number of times water has surrounded my most memorable memories. The many pools that were my training ground in becoming a certified lifeguard. The waterfall in Jamaica that was an afternoon playground after two weeks of hard work. The mountaintops of Ecuador that were home, not only to the exotic Indian tribes, but magnificent waterfalls feeding rivers flowing across the ecquatorial divide. Green Lake, WI, which will forever hold memories of speed-boat rides and tubing fun with my big boy cousins. The Atlantic Ocean adventures spent year after year with fun-loving college friends in March, just when we could no longer take the pressure of studies and the drab of western Michigan. And my favorite Bible stories - Jesus turning water into wine, calming the stormy waters, and cleansing us clean.

Hurnand put together for me the draw I have to these watery places of power, beauty, and serenity. Water pictures for us the components of love. Take waterfalls, for instance, water pouring upon water in extra-ordinary ecstasy of self-abandoned giving. Love - An expression of humility, the plumit downward of the water, encouraging us to dig deeper, find the lowest place and you will find fulfillment. An expression of giving, a pouring out that brings life and power to others, for in greater giving comes greater fulfillment. An expression of service, the waters giving themselves to the whole valley but also to expanses far beyond. "To be utterly abandoned to the goal of giving oneself to others, and going down lower, is the joy and ecstacy of love."

Still, the very power and magnificence of water can bring us great fear and threaten to drown us, should we succumb. It hasn't been long since I thought I couldn't tread water any longer, when I would give anything to have someone bring the floor up to me. When I was thrust off the tube so hard that the ensued scare was hard to cover up with a smile when I came to the surface. Life has certainly brought many of these moments. Yet, the Lord in His great faithfulness has brought the floor up to me just when my "heart muscles" thought I couldn't tread any longer. When I thought I had "bit it", He has given me a glimpse of what truly biting it would mean and that I've come through a valley, but not been destroyed. Like my favorite song says,"I am coming up for air. It won't be long until I am there."

Another neighborhood jaunt

Thanks Mom & Dad for lending me the new camera so I can experiment with a manual camera. Here's the results of a practice run.

One of Those Days...

Today has been "one of those" days. You know the kind. The kind filled with work, work, oh and more work. 50 projects all with the same deadline - yesterday. Stress. and not enough phone calls from friends. I break for friends. Oh, and don't forget what happens when you arrive home on one of those days...laundry stares you in the face. It has been staring at you for days and that hasn't prompted you to action before, but then, you remember your last pair (?) of underway is being worn. So, despite how stressed (and tired) you are, you trudge up and down, up and down, up and down three flights of stairs, fighting all the while with the stubborn washers and dryers that won't accept your tokens.

This isn't a post of lament. Rather, I've chosen to remember how to keep sanity...perspective...and most importantly, taught, young skin. (Wouldn't want those wrinkles too soon! Can't afford Botox quite yet.)

The trick: challenging yourself to remember that moment (or two), which despite the trudge of the day, brought a smile to your face...or your heart. (I do a lot of inward smiling, laughing, and even crying. I know I'm not alone.)

That "smile" moment of the day happened when I chose to spend my lunch break rescuing my sweaters from the cleaners. Yes, "rescue". The pick-up clock was going on three weeks because, frankly, the parking by this particular cleaners sucks. Why did I choose to stray from my usual cleaners? I don't know. Well, the cleaners abducts your clothes after 30 days, so I figured I better get on it.

Presumably, once again, the parking sucked. It does on a typical day, and it really did today. Hyde Park had marked nearly every street with the bless-ed orange city "no parking due to street cleaning" sign. However, no one in the whole neighborhood moved. I know some cop got great glee writing hundreds of tickets, slot machines and money signs chinging in his head all the way. "Yes," he mutters over and over and he thinks about how he's finally met his quota for the month...or maybe even year. From this moment forward he only has to pretend to "work". (Just for the record: I have friends who are Chicago police officers and they are great, ethical, moral people. Still, my personal experience has never been grand.)

Back to the cleaners story...With nowhere to park in a three mile radius, storm clouds forming, and my aching feet reminding me that, as is, I'm unlikely to get through the day in these heels, I opt not only to park in a tow zone, but in someone's personal permit spot. I didn't forget my hazards - an on-my-knees plead to refrain from writing the ticket. I'll be back in just a sec.

Picked up my drycleaning and who do I see round the corner, heading with way too much thrill toward my car...the dang police.

Despite being suere my toenails were going to bruise and fall off after a run through the parking lot, I have no other choice. I suddenly have slot machines and money signs going through my head - the money signs that will be added to my credit card bill when I have to pay off the ticket and slot machines as the only way I can afford to pay off this impending ticket.

Oh yes, I went running after the cop. Meeting up with him and running alongside his window....in my heels. He stops, rolls down his window and asks, "Are you running from the police?"

In great ministerial tact, I replied, "You're damn right."

He laughs. I keep running. He keeps driving.

"You really are, aren't you?"

"Yep"

"Where's your car?"

I think, "That's got to be the dumbest question. I'm not going to answer that." But, I reply, "Guess." The hazards keep beat up ahead.

Keep running.

"Look, I'm not going to give you a ticket."

Out of breath and already roll my eyes at the direction of this conversation, I give him one of those "death" female glare. "Right."

"I don't. 14 years of service and I've never given a ticket. You know, all police don't have the same role."

My feet hurt and so willing to accept the possibility I just might be the one to laugh at here.

Arrived at my car. Hung the drycleaning in the backseat. The cop isn't done speaking, however.

"So, not only did you park in a tow zone, but in a personal, permit spot."

I didn't know if that was a question, a statement, or an exclamation.

"Yep. There's nowhere else to park."

"But still. You've got guts. You must be a risk taker"

Was that a one-liner?

"Nope, " I replied, "I just live in Chicago. Have a good day."

He laughs, "You too."

The glee from avoiding a ticket was secondary to the glee I experienced from being called a "risk taker". You're darn right. Few have realize this attribute of mine. Instead, they dwell on my maturity, my first-born, Type-A, always-quite-capable abilities, But, somewhere between training wheels and dating the first of two ex-cons in high school, I learned that risk taking is worth it...some of the time. You'll only know what those times are, after you've accomplished them. Right? Okay, a young statement, I know. I'm having a "young" moment. Wisdom & discernment hats off.

Anyways...

Cheers to cops who have never written a ticket in their career! There should be more of you.