Soggy Sunday

Boot Umbrella Stand

Song stuck in my head: Raining on Sunday. For a very obvious reason.

Today's adventure with preschoolers involved kazoos. I convinced them we were spies. And then we snuck up on the bad guys and terrified them with our awkward buzz-happy blasts. Very Gideon of us, no?

Quotes of the day:

BOY 1: This is my magical orange. It keeps saying, "Not a chance."

BOY 2: I like bread in my milkshake.

BOY 3: I don't want a cookie. I brushed my teeth really well this morning.

I Love You, Too

Douglas Coupland - Atelier

(Read about his brilliance here)

I was walking down King Street with my mom. I was in a sundress, on my way to be charmed by the von Trapp family, and in a very good mood. A stranger, not watching where he was going, ran into me.

GUY: Sorry. I love you.

I smiled. And kept walking. And when he was out of earshot, I told him I loved him, too. Just not that way.

This weekend was a wonderful one, filled with laughter and heart-to-hearts and mini-adventures and challenging late-night conversation. Douglas Coupland's exhibit was involved. As was Scrabble. And new friends. And old friends. And YouTube. And lipgloss. And sunshine. And long walks. And streetcar rides. And patios. And plenty of coffee.

And everything kept coming back to love. Not necessarily that of the romantic variety (although it certainly came up), but love nevertheless. Friendships and why they grow stagnant. Needy individuals and why we're scared to invest in them. Failure to trust God with life and love and every tiny desire of the heart.

"Love takes the initiative." Church was so good today. So aligned with everything in my heart and head right now. The importance of the pursuit of God above every other pursuit. Stepping away from the bubble of self and choosing to actively love the outsider. Over lunch with my mom and two new friends, I saw the teaching come to life. It's not about me. That's not why I'm here, to just sit around and think about what I want and need and don't have. 

I've always loved the story of Ruth. But now I think I love the woman Ruth too. 

(If you've got 50 minutes to spare, listen to "The Odd Couple." All thumbs up. Not that I critique my Sunday mornings. For discerning sci-fi fans, Bruxy may have opened with, "On the eighth day, God created Battlestar Galactica.")

With Rings on Her Fingers....

I met three women yesterday. All remarkable and engaging and sweet. We were waiting for our ten little preschool terrors to arrive when conversation shifted to ring fingers. Left hands. Each of them sported an impressive sparkler.

I had nothing to contribute. Nothing. No insightful anecdote, no opinion. I just oohed for a moment and smiled as they talked about diamond settings and proposals. I wasn't bitter, uncomfortable or envious. It's just so outside of my reality that I felt my musings would be coming from a completely unqualified source.

Although I did have the amusing thought that it would have been a great day to decorate my hand with something like this:

Should marriage be in my future, my only ring dream is that Mr. Awesome choose something rather lovely that will make him want to hold my hand for approximately forever. The end.

(I think UP got to me. I'll get over the mush shortly. Promise.)

Act Your Age, Not Your Shoe Size

Two of my favorite fictional precocious children.

BOY: I'm three.
ME: I know. But I always think you're older. You look at me with old-man eyes.

...

BOY: How old are you?
ME: Guess.
BOY: Twenty-eight?
ME: Nope.
BOY: Twenty-nine? Twenty-ten? Twenty-eleven?
ME: Wrong direction.
BOY: Nineteen?
GIRL: One? Two? Three...?

GIRL eventually got it right. Smart cookie.

Easter Parade

A little boy, let's call him Billy, bounces into church. Instead of his usual flashing-light sneakers, he's wearing black polished shoes. His mom pulls me aside, warning me that his Easter footwear is a little small and he may want to take them off. And then she leaves us to play and talk about Jesus.

At one point in the morning, he makes me imaginary garlic-bread pancakes. Delicious.

Nearing the end of our time together, he decides that he's tired of the other children and sits out of the games. I join him, and we chat about his parents (who he thinks are probably homesick, sitting in the service without him) and Easter festivities.

He swings his feet as he talks. So I acknowledge his fancy kicks.

Me: I like your shoes, Billy.
Billy: I know you do.

Oh, to get away with receiving compliments like that. So unfiltered and unaffected.

I love kids.

(Another little girl took over story time, claiming that the story of Jesus was based on a movie about a lion. Except that Jesus isn't a boy or a girl. Just sort of, but with really bright skin.)

Church With Jake Gyllenhaal

It's no secret that I love my church. Which is a very exciting thing to type, as I spent my first year or so in this city wandering aimlessly between churches, often preferring to sleep in and watch Charles Price on TV rather than trek to a building of awkward mediocrity. Please, pastors of the world, stop trying to be Dr. Phil. And maybe test-drive your analogies with a trusted loved one. So many attempts = FAIL. (Just ask my brother Joel. There will be eye-rolling....)

Back to The Meeting House.

We've been talking about the early church. About community. And about how non-creepy real fellowship is, in stark contrast with the most brilliant clip below.

There is no better sermon lead-in than 3 minutes with Jake. This even beats the Shawn of the Dead Sunday....

(Watch 3:50 to 7:09)



There's a huge difference between authentic community and "bright and shiny." One is real and life-changing. The other is hilarious. From a distance.

His & Hers

I was going to post the most ridiculously amazing YouTube party here. But then my head got overwhelmed with things that actually matter. You know, the things of man, the mystery of God, the messiness of life. Home church has been really good for me. Scary, too, as these people I'm now trudging through life with don't really know me. I hear myself processing things aloud, repeating myself for fear that I'm not understood. And in hearing the stories of others, my little problems dissolve. I was instantly humbled just looking one woman in the eye.

It was a little bittersweet to wrap up the His & Hers series at The Meeting House. It was full of painful and enlightening "aha" moments that I will probably have to revisit to process properly. The series was also frustrating, as I'm only one half of every guy-meets-girl relationship I'm in. And none of the other halves with there. I would sit there, silently screaming, "Yes! That's me! Why isn't [some guy I know] here? Why can't I articulate this on my own?" Sigh.

I've also been revisiting some old John Eldredge stuff recently. I'll post again when I'm thinking more clearly. Sometimes the snob in me writes off some of the generalizations in his prose as a defense mechanism. Would I easily admit to you that "Am I lovely?" is one of the key questions I, as a woman, struggle with answering daily? No. But is it? Uh, yeah.

(Seriously though, if little girls in tutus are supposed to end up with bloody William Wallaces, clearly there's some hard work in store.)

But I think I like this thing called diversity. And the idea that abolishing gender roles doesn't necessitate that we ignore gender. I need to be more intentional about learning from the gender I'm not. Because I really do want to live a life that doesn't ghettoize. I don't want to only gravitate toward sameness, whether that's gender, race, socioeconomic status or age. (So I suppose I should befriend a rich old sultan....) Sure, male/female friendships can get complicated. But an absence of them creates another whole series of problems.

Oh, and tonight, I may have accused Jesus of "having a blast" with his resurrection. And I stand by it. I'll explain later.

And I'll share the YouTube awesomeness tomorrow. Probably.

Seacrest out.

P.S. Who wouldn't want to end up with a bloody William Wallace? I mean, minus the face paint, bad accent, historical inaccuracy and missing intestines....

The Gender I'm Not

Church continues to rock my little world. In fact today's sermon influenced my internal dialogue when I was hit on by yet another man at the subway station. It's official: I'm irresistible to men who take public transit.

HIM: You are so beautiful.

ME: [in my head] I bet you think monogamy is something furniture is made of.

And then I smiled. To myself. And he probably thought I was basking in his wonderful compliment. Seriously, gentlemen, "beautiful" is a powerful word. But it has to come from the right guy. Preferably someone who knows my name. And who doesn't scare me.



(For those of you who sermon-stalk, today was Sermon #3 in the "His & Hers" series. It was not G-rated. Which I highly appreciated. Because I'm not 12.)

Speak For Me

I will blog about my fantastic weekend tomorrow. In the meantime, know that the above photo pretty much sums it up: perfect. (And yes, I took the picture. I'm working on my photography skills).

A few months ago, I started writing a blog post about the word "safe." About how I wanted to be safe without playing it safe. But I managed to lose any skill for articulateness. And so it remained unpublished. And then today, I came across the blog entry I wish I wrote. So please read about "safe" over at This Is REVERB. My head, his words.

Speaking of other people speaking for me....

Bruxy (my pastor) was awesome again this week. And totally identified a conversation I had a few weeks ago. He was talking about how men and women communicate differently, about how men carefully select their words and care about the definitions of the those words. And how for women, verbal precision is less important than the process.

This was the conversation:

ME: Blah, blah, blah, heart-on-sleeve, blah, blah, big sweeping statement, blah, blah, too much information, blah, blah, everything in my head....

HIM: This. Is. Exactly. What. I. Want. You. To. Understand.

I walk away, thinking we've had a heart-to-heart. Days later, I get an email from HIM: "I've been thinking about what you said...."

Exactly as Bruxy described, the words and their definitions mattered to HIM. For ME, the processing aloud was the point, not the specific sentences.

Church is relevant. Who woulda thunk it?

Jesus and Superbad

Church was awesome today. Seriously awesome. Not that it's usually sub-awesome or anything. But today, everything just made sense. In a fresh way. And for a sermon series called "Superbad," sin wasn't made scary, nor was it sugar-coated. I've never really thought of sin as a response to a God-given need before....

People sin because they want something, and they are afraid goodness won't get it for them.

~Barbara Brown Taylor

You can check out Joel's sermon (Bruxy's off for a bit) here.

This is what he opened with. I laughed. Out loud. Many times.



I also appreciated the idea of letting each other off the hook. It's not a negative thing. Because, really, if your friend's hanging from a hook, you should help him down.