What Then?

It's evening and I'm following a friend across the bluffs lining the pacific ocean. We weave through dry, desert brush, and pass prickly pear cacti that offer their red fruit to us with outstretched arms. The warm wind teases and tousles and we breath deep delight.

And Dusk, she joins us. She sings us her evening song, quietly at first. The music steals low and velvety across the bluffs, just behind the wind, and then it paints the distant mountains purple.

Lights twinkle in the city below, and the song, it grows louder. And as the sun falls lower, the song swells fuller, till the sky bursts into crimson flame from the song's piercing melodic strain, and the waves clap and the trees whisper awe.

And we stand in silence and watch the sea swallow the sun. I listen close, and my soul sounds grateful peace.

It's easy to feel at peace when the sky dances with light and the sea is shining silent.

And it's easy to feel at peace when bodies are healthy, and hearts are no longer grieving, and our country is free, and friendships are satisfying, and the future is full of opportunities.

But the darkness, it was just here last night, and I know, even as the sky streaks glory, that the black of night will come again.

And what then? When the inky darkness weighs heavy, and hearts ache fierce, and the future seems a burden? What then, when sin colors ugly and shoots sorrow, and things aren't the way they're supposed to be?

I turn and look behind me at the darkening bluff covered in dead brush, and then I look back at the blazing sky and sinking sun.

And I whisper how the sky is always there, and the waves they always churn, and the sun it always sets, and dusk, she always sings,

And even when we are faithless God is faithful because he cannot deny himself.

© by scj

Thursday Things: Six

1. I made brussel sprouts this week. Aren't they beautiful?

There are two keys to making brussel-sprouts-that-taste-so-good-they-rival-cheesecake (seriously): 

1. A good balsamic

2. Bacon

Bacon is always the answer.

2. I've caught the cold that's kept my students sniffling this month. So rather than spend the week galavanting about with friends in costume, I've been writing like a fiend, eating lots of chicken soup, and sipping tea/dancing/husband-finding/countryside-romping with these girls:

3. I seriously feel so good, you guys. Even with this cold, I feel ten times better than I did a few months ago. It turns out having my tonsils removed was one of the best decisions I've ever made, besides following Jesus of course. Now that my body is no longer fighting a constant infection it is more easily repairing the internal damage from the mono, and it's doing normal things like thinking clearly and waking up rested in the morning.

It's all so thrilling.

There are 26 keys on this keyboard that I could use to explain just how thrilling—how wildly delightful—it is to feel so normal. But these keys aren't enough. You'd probably understand best if you could watch me run up the hill behind my house, or splash free and full in ocean waves, or do the moonwalk in my socks after dinner.

I'm thankful for your prayers, and would love continued prayer for complete healing this year.


4. In other news, it dropped below 70 degrees here the other night.

It was quite a shock to my system.


5. My iPhone camera got too full this week so I had to delete scores of pictures. I could not, however, bring myself to delete this one. I like having it handy on my phone.

What does this garden squash remind you of?

I cannot look at it without seeing a third grade Veggie Tales character who really, really needs to go to bathroom.

I smile every time I see it.



6. Soon I'll be blogging about this trip:

Photo by Mayra Long

In the meantime, Happy Thursday, everyone!

Sarah

© by scj

Skunk and My Sixth Sense

An Addendum to my last post, 'This Good News Stinks.'

Remember when I told you about my Top Secret Mission?  And remember how I told you that my friend, G, found Skunk too soon? And remember how I deduced that he either a) saw me put Skunk on his car, or b) had a sixth sense—a lawn ornament secret mission sense?

In the end, I sensed G had a lawn-ornament-secret-mission sixth sense, and then I wondered if I, too, have a lawn ornament secret mission sense. Naturally.

Well folks, I give you 'Exhibit A': a text message exchange between G and me (my words in blue). Notice that the conversation begins October 19-20th, and then resumes October 22nd (see: the bottom of the second picture):

So you see, I do have a surprising secret-mission-lawn-ornament sixth sense, after all.

© by scj

This Good News Stinks

I have some bad news and some good news.

The bad news is I haven't blogged regularly in quite some time. The good news is I'm here to tell you really obvious and important things, like the fact that I haven't blogged regularly in quite some time.

The bad news is I scraped someone's bumper in the parking lot this month. The good news is I did lots of other exciting things, too, and have pictures to show for  it.

The bad news is I'm not sure when I'll get around to blogging about all of the non-bumper related things that have happened this month. The good news is I will. Soon.

In the meantime, I'm having a really good day. It's not just because I started the day with pumpkin nut pancakes, and it's not just because I got to use one of the Anthropologie teacups my brother and his wife recently gifted me, and it's not just because I got ten hours of sleep last night.

It's because I had a surprise package waiting at our gate this morning. 

It was a cubic box, and its presence was terribly exciting for a couple of reasons:

1. I have never gotten mail-delivered goodies in a cube-shaped box before.

2. It is dented and torn, which is a sure-fire indicator it's an adventurous box—a spirited, risk-taking box that, no doubt, will change my life forever.

I tore open the nice little cube, and was delighted to find I had a visitor:

SKUNKIE! If you do not know about Skunk or my lawn ornament-loving friend, G, then you should probably read this:

'My Top Secret Mission'

I gingerly removed Skunk and admired his freshly polished and combed coat. And then I noticed it: that sparkle in his green eyes that confirmed what I'd already suspected: he'd been adventuring.

I grinned big and then reached back into the box and pulled out this journal:

I pulled out its red leather strap and opened it, to find this:

And oh! how I laughed! The throw-back-your-head-and-let-all-the-delight-bust-out kind of laugh.

Because the good news is: Skunk will be traveling soon, and I might just get to tag along.

© by scj

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I went running. 

Love,

Sarah


© by scj

A Taste of Healthier Political Thinking

My friend Rachel likes coffee-flavored ice cream. I don’t get it. Sure, I like a steaming cup of coffee every now and then, but, when it comes to ice cream, the coffee-flavored kind doesn’t float my boat. I would much rather dip a very large spoon into a tub of peppermint-flavored ice cream. It not only floats my boat, it raises its sails and sets it flying toward the sherbet-streaked sunset.

Click here to join me at Positively Human for the rest of the article.

The Mascot Saga Continues. . . Sort of.

Remember the geraniums I was nursing back to health with the hope that Mascot would return to me one day?

(Meet Mascot here; read about his almost-murder mystery here, and his escape to a new life here).

Well, I haven't had much luck fighting off the voracious fungus that's invaded my geranium patch.  In fact, my geraniums have grown so shriveled that I accidentally uprooted one the other day having mistaken it for a weed.

Naturally I've lost all hope of Mascot ever returning.

But then, one night last week, I was about to drift into dreamland when the loud screeching of a grasshopper startled me back to consciousness.  I tossed and turned, and tried to dip back into sleep, but I swear that thing was so loud it sounded like it was sitting on my head.

"Oh dear God," I begged.  "Make.it.stop."

Which, incidentally, reminded me of the time my mom and some other homeschool moms took us kids to a nursing home to play our musical instruments for the elderly.

"It will make them so happy to hear your music," the moms assured us.  "In fact, you'll probably make their day."

So a friend and I mustered up the willpower to play a beginners piano/violin duet for them, with me on the piano.

We played courageously and fervently for our audience, and then, about halfway into our musical debut, a loud, warbling voice from the back yelled,

"Make them stop!!!! Somebody MAKE.THEM.STOP!!!!!"

I can't say that I ever played at a nursing home again after that.

Anyway, after a few minutes of the grasshopper's chirruping and screeching I was on my feet with the lights on, opening closets and cupboards hoping to find and shush the little critter.

No luck.

I'm not exactly sure how to go about shushing a grasshopper, anyway.

In retrospect I really should have known better and looked in my geranium patch.  After all, Mascot's serenading from the geraniums last winter proved that sound travels quite well from my patio to my pillow.

But I didn't look.  Not until this week, anyhow, when, quite by accident, I spotted a new, four-legged grasshopper clinging to the daisies in the middle of my geranium patch.

Delighted, my heart did a happy dance and I tip-toed away quietly, hoping I wouldn't scare him away.  And you know what?  He's still there, as I write!  (And he continues to serenade me each night. . .).

Naturally, I couldn't let such an exciting turn of events go undocumented, so yesterday I whipped out my camera and moved in close, determined to capture my new little friend on film.

His antennae quivered and beady eyes stared back at me, and then, miracle of miracles, he began to eat the leaf he was clinging to.  

Life on my patio, it be craaaaaayzee.

My jaw dropped as I watched his tiny little jaw move up and down, up and down, and I bet yours would have too.  Never, in all my life, have I come so close to feeling like I was hanging out on the set of A Bug's Life.  And never, in all my life, have I seen something so miniature work so perfectly.  Gosh, God, you done good.  That teeny weeny wittle jaw worked like a charm.

But don't take my word for it. Watch this amazingly geeky video I made and see for yourself.  But please, do yourself a favor and pop a dramamine before hitting play.

Boy I hope my new, hungry little music-maker is here to stay.

If he does, what do you think I should name him?

© by scj

Look Around, Heart of Mine

This week I turned 28.  I'm trying not to blink because I'm not ready to be 30 yet.

When I was a kid I couldn't wait for my birthday to arrive.  I'd go to bed the night before the big day with butterflies in my stomach, and then spend the night tossing and turning with dreams of eager anticipation for the next day's festivities.

But in the days leading up to my last two birthdays the joy of completing another year is mixed with chest-tightening anxiety.  The problem isn't that I now discuss eye creams with girlfriends at parties, or am beginning to realize the benefits of a good fake tan to enhance 'youthfulness.'  Although I admittedly do not relish the effects of gravity.

The truth is, I haven't been able to figure out why, exactly, flying toward 30, 40, and 50 is making my palms all sweaty.  But on the morning of my birthday I woke up and I knew.

My heart has been suffering from amnesia.

Unlike my tendency to lock my keys in the car or hop in the shower still wearing clothes, this has nothing to do with age.  My heart has always been prone to quickly and easily forget things it should never forget.  The Old Testament stories of the Israelites remind me this is a human tendency we will always have to fight.

This week my amnesic heart has been looking back on the difficulties of the last two years and fearing what the next year holds.  It's forgotten, of course, that the last two years, although dark and painful, have been some of the best years of my life.  

They've been the impetus to extensive soul renovation, and they've pushed me into closest intimacy with Jesus.  They've made me live the Christian paradoxes of being emptied yet filled, and losing my life to find it.  And of course it's always infinitely better to live good and beautiful Christian truths than to merely admire them from afar.

So now I know that I know that I know that I know that Christ's divine life swallows up all of mine, so that even suffering cannot evade the redemptive touch of his goodness.

And yet here I am fretting that my future will somehow fall outside the domain of God's goodness.

Silly, forgetful heart.

I've spent a lot of years trying to find an antidote to this heart amnesia that slowly poisons and kills my joy.  Every antidote I've found requires that, in some way, I center my heart on God's goodness in my life, minute by minute, hour by hour.  And so that's what I've been doing this week.

And you know what?  There are a lot of good things about being 28.

I love that now I am totally okay with wearing socks and flip flops in public places like, say, Dairy Queen.

I love that I have girlfriends who like picnics as much as I do,

and that the wind on September 17th whispers of fall--of pumpkin spice bread, boots and scarves, and crisp evenings.

I love that I have students who like to laugh about topic sentences and semicolons, and that my dad calls me sometimes just because he's thinking of me.

I love that I just stepped into my neighbor's kitchen to borrow three brown eggs, and that she emailed me today to tell me how much she loves me.

My loveliest friends and neighbors

I love that I got a video early on the morning of my birthday featuring one of my childhood best friends wearing curlers in her hair and singing an original celebratory song.

I love that I'm heading to Colorado next week to meet up with my family, and my second family, the Longs.  I love that we have scads of memories galavanting about foreign lands together, and that we still love each other somethin' fierce after 21 years of friendship.

I love that my mama recently sent me a care package full of gluten-free goodies that included this necklace from my childhood,

and that I have a little sister who knows the joys of Cabbage Patch kids, and who can style hairdos now that would put her old dollies' to shame.

I love that the beach is just an hour away,

and that the sky is always there. Always.

My thoughts are bubbling and swelling like boiling sugar now, pouring out my fingertips onto my computer screen.  And I love that my mind is filling faster than my fingers can type, remembering dozens, and then scores, and then hundreds of ways God has poured goodness into my life this week, straight from the treasure chest of his glorious riches.

Look around, heart of mine, and remember.


© by scj

You're Not Ready to Die. . .

. . . If you've never read this book:

It'll make you long for heaven,

and stand in awe of Christ's work on the cross all over again,

and want to be swept up in a story bigger than yourself.

Seriously, go buy it.  Don't even mess around with the library.  This is a book you need to re-read again and again.

And make sure you get the unabridged version.  Reading the abridged version is like eating carob chips when you could have a bar of decadent swiss chocolate; or looking at pictures of the Rocky Mountains when you could be skiing in them; or skyping with your neighbor when you could just walk over and eat dinner with him.

And then, go see this movie in December:

I seriously can't.wait.

© by scj

Five Things

1. If I could munch on scones and speak with a British accent every afternoon all afternoon I'd be the happiest girl to ever say 'Please pass the tea, dahling.'  Thank goodness for BBC films and television series.  They almost convince me that I'm a sophisticated young lady who takes high tea and dances the night away at local balls.

Until yesterday, that is.  Because yesterday I realized that, according to the British Broadcasting Network, I.am.an.old.maid.  A wilting rose; a wrinkling plum (soon-to-be-a-prune); a pillow that smells like moth balls.  Sorry, that last one doesn't really make sense.  Except that I associate the smell of moth balls with everything old maidish.

I can no longer dream about marrying a Mr. Knightly that is 14 years my elder because I am almost Mr. Knightly's age.

I know I know, some of you are shaking your heads because by today's standards I'm a young chicken.  Or is it spring chicken?  Figures of speech have never been my strong-suit.  But hyperbole is.  Thanks for indulging it for a minute.


2. Sometimes girls just wanna have fun.

3. Someone once told me that flies only have a 24 hour lifespan.  But folks, I am here to tell you this is not true.

A fly snuck into my studio two days ago and the little rascal was too quick to corner, so I let him live.  He'd only last another day, I figured, and I'd be gone for most of that day anyway.

But it's been over 48 hours since he invaded my quiet little space and he is still alive and kickin,' the loud little bugger.

Someone pass me the newspaper.


4. In just 2 1/2 weeks I'll be in Nathrop, Colorado near Mt. Princeton for a dear friend's wedding, and boy I can't wait to see family, friends, and the fall colors.

5. Remember my old neighbors and dear friends Luke and Laura?  They came to visit a bit ago, and I got to meet their sweet little baby, Addie.

And oh! she is OH so sweet, and I couldn't stop taking pictures of her. I tried to take a video, except I'd taken so many pictures that it got cut off after five seconds, mid-sentence.  But look how darling her blinking is and how sweet her wiggling fingers and toes are in those five seconds!  Everything about her is just perfect.

It's a marvelous thing when good friends have babies.  I really can't explain how wonderful it is to hold a baby that belongs to a dear friend, but I think you must know how it feels.  If you don't then you may want to start encouraging your friends to have kids.  Asap.  Like, yesterday.

Happy Monday, everyone!

SJ

© by scj

Hop on Over!

Will you join me over here this week?

Sometimes It's Nice to Walk into Your Classroom and Find an Elephant

Hi friends, it's been awhile.

I guess I've been playing too hard these days because I came down with a gnarly summer cold that's made it difficult to do thinking activities, like writing complete. Sentences.

Somehow, though, my head-that-feels-like-a-lava-lamp was able to do just enough work to be ready for my first day of teaching yesterday.

I love the first day of school.

I love the excited butterflies in my stomach, the smell of new dry erase markers, running into old students and seminary friends around campus, meeting my new students, and finding surprise safari animals in my classroom.

Friends, meet Norman the normal elephant:

He was waiting for me on the podium in my first class yesterday, along with this introduction:

Norman's appearance was just so darn mysterious!  Had my new supervisor put him here?  Could she have possibly done this for all fifty of us in the composition department?  And what did she mean by 'I've heard you have recently become  'normal' too'?  Surely she knows that English teachers are never normal?—that they do things like, say, impersonate 'The Albino' from The Princess Bride for unsuspecting, nervous freshmen on the first day of class?

But who else could have introduced me to Norman the normal elephant?

Perhaps time would tell?

Underneath the card introducing Norman was this card:

After I was finished teaching my classes I tore it open and found this picture:

Along with these instructions:

Were there other faculty members doing this? I wondered. Was this some elaborate means of team-building?

. . .

?

????

Or maybe one of my friends was having a little fun with me?

I hoped Paul the Pensive Panda would have some answers. So I set out across campus toward the lounge where seminarian philosophers sit rubbing their chins and pensively discussing really electrifying things like qualia and epiphenomenalism.

Sure enough, Pensive Paul was waiting for me, along with another card labeled 'SJ.'

I sat on the maroon leather couch that has held so many brilliant thinkers before Pensive Paul and opened the envelope.  I found this picture:

And these instructions:

A hurdling, eschatology-discussing giraffe!

When my sister and I play the what-animals-do-our-family-members-look-like? game (a favorite pastime) we always decide a giraffe is my animal.  I've also been known to enjoy hurdling and a rousing discussion about eschatology—so surely this giraffe was my kindred spirit?!  I couldn't wait to meet him, so I headed across campus to the track.

About ten seconds into my trek I noticed that the leather straps on my shoes were slowly but surely sawing off my toes.  I was faced with a dilemma.  Should I continue on my path toward bloody toe-lessness?  Or join the ranks of the granola folk who come to my class every day without shoes, for no apparent reason?  I decided that toe-lessness was not an option, took off my shoes, and set off again.

I ran into one of my old student's sisters during my hunt.  She gladly agreed to help me document it. :)

And boy, going barefoot in public is fun.  Well, it's fun once you can silence your brain's regular reminders of every article you've ever read about tapeworms and viruses entering people through their feet.  Only then does it feel like being a kid all over again.

Walking barefoot on a track is one of my favorite things, along with rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Just kidding, I hate cats.

I found George the Galloping Giraffe!

With another picture inside the envelope:

And another clue:

George and I galloped to the library together where I put on my shoes, and headed straight for the upper east wing.

Ted the Translating Turtle!

He's reading Hebrew, go figure.

I opened the final card hoping it would reveal the creator of this little scavenger hunt, but there was no name.

Instead I found this picture:

And these instructions:

I walked down to the outdoor benches and looked around. . .and. . .there was nobody there.  Not my supervisor, not a friend.

And then a familiar face appeared from around the corner:  S, a friend from my Old Testament class two and a half years ago.

"You!"  I exclaimed.

"You!"  I exclaimed again.

I'm quite articulate in surprising situations.

"Yes, me!" he said.  And then we sat down and he explained.

"You're feeling more normal," he said.  (He'd read this blog post from a few weeks ago).

"I wanted to encourage you as you start a new semester feeling normal for the first time in years, so I gave you Norman the Normal Elephant to celebrate your newfound normal."

Suddenly it all made sense.

S runs the copy center on campus, so for the last two years I've seen him every week when I've gone to pick up my handouts for classes.  He's seen me on the days when getting out of bed for work was an enormous feat due to illness, and on the days my eyes were heavy with sorrow from life's blows, and on the days I confessed I was just faking it till I made it.

And now there are signs I'm heading back to 'normal' and he knows this is no small thing, so today, the first day of the semester, he gave me a new elephant friend to remind me of God's good gift of 'normal' this month.

New normal friends are the greatest, aren't they?

Almost as great as old friends.

© by scj