Does God have an odd sense of humor?

i think yes, only because while shopping at Fred Meyer's Monday (on Glisan) while i was mindless walking down looking at finger nail polish this i notice this guy looking very panicked and then turns around and goes down the isle that he was just in.
'how odd' i think, then i realized he looked familiar and then realized he just might be my bus driver sans the glasses. so then the rest of my shopping experience was jacked up with the fear that i would see him again, and then i got really insecure with my purchases like i would be judged on my hair dye and orange juice, good thing i didn't need to buy tampons!
i saw him at check out-which i went to the opposite end of checkers, had to walk by him when i left, saw what i thought was his car, and then had a panic attack while walking down Glisan toward home, saw his car again, and then almost barfed while having to cross in front of his car at the crosswalk.


i think he might be stalking me, or he may think i'm stalking him.

too bad i don't believe in fate.

i find some much discontentment in this that where i haven't seen this person in like six months i then run into him six times in the span of half an hour.

pardon me while i rant...

One of my least favorite things is to be hit on... sometimes i admit i don't realize what's going on until it's too late, or the moment has passed.
i was on the MAX today going to meet friends in N. Portland, when 'Benny' sat next too me. He was a cute guy, smelt a lot like the beer he was drinking, and then he proceeds to hit on me. i try not to lie, but when there is some crazy drunk next to you asking you if you have a boyfriend, it's just easier to say 'yes i have a boyfriend' 'yes it's serious' 'yes, he's a big guy, and would beat you'.
And that would have been something that was bad really at all- until he while he was getting up to leave telling me how great it was to meet me, and that i should thank my parents for having good genetics for me to be 'cute'- he leans in for a hug (by the way, i'm knitting the entire time trying not to engage a conversation about drinking on public transportation), and along with the hug i get a beer drenched kiss on the cheek.

And i lost one of my favorite scarfs.

Isn't it a full moon or something?

AWOL

i feel really awol in life right now. i hate engaging at work because i don't feel really feel that's is the place for me to relax. Right now i'm ready a Buddhist book on acceptance. i do find it enlightening even just recognizing my feelings, and naming them in the moment instead of stuffing them.
There are these definite times when i think back to God's acceptance and love for us, and how we are to love others, and then i am so convicted of those i don't love, and quite honestly don't like at all.

You are a Christian only so long as you constantly pose critical questions to the society you live in ... so long as you stay unsatisfied with the status quo and keep saying that a new world is yet to come.

- Henri Nouwen

Projects

i like that i had the idea that it would be great to refinish my desk while i had my computer looked at because it wouldn't burn CD's. Unfortunately for me, it takes apple a lot less time than it does for me to remove paint, sand, & restain a desk. . . i would let it beat me up, but i think i'm pretty high from the stain.
Finally after day three i was able to disassemble the legs (i think the paint made it almost impossible to remove screws), i feel like day four will be cake since all i need to do is sand the top, take some thinner to the legs (sand), and then stain.
The only bad thing would be i'm not home the next few days- which means the mass chaos that my apartment is in right now with now desk so room is messy, computer on the dining room table, oh yeah, and a desk and the tools used in this project scattered about the kitchen. - - Where is my roommate you must wonder? in Colorado for the next two weeks, which allows me to be so disruptive to our apartment.
Tonight i found some redemption in making something old new, and giving it new life. There was meditation in stripping everything down to the original organic material it was. Like it was needing room to breathe, but it might just be me projecting myself onto a desk. . .

And yeah, i can finally burn CD's again! So, any of one i said i would mix stuff for, remind me. . . i may have forgotten. . .

Election years lately have done nothing but truly antagonize the worst in me- they cause deep rage in me.

Mostly because of the mass polarization of politics. i am ashamed that i ranted on a friends blog- only because i deeply resent the idea that one must be conservative to have any faith in God. Plus it's patronizing- it doesn't prove one right to be condescending- it only proves arrogance. Also, i know many people who have been negatively affected by this mind frame as well. After reading this guy's comment on my friends blog my first thought was "God save us from your people."

The fact of the matter is, that i am liberal. . . Maybe even progressive- possibly. i grew up in a family where my mom was a Democrat, and my dad did not belong to a political party on the mere fact that one should stand up for what they believe, and vote for the person who represents those beliefs.
At 18, i was really excited the first time- i went with my dad. Famously to his nature he spent 15 minutes lecturing me on the importance of voting for who i thought would do the best job, stressing not to allow a political party dictate how i would vote. And so for 12 years following his example i have let my conscious, and beliefs influence how i would vote.
What i hate most about the bickering between the two parties is the polarization- us vs. them. i blame famous commentators who really are so closed minded to think that the opposition could/would have a better idea. It really bothers me that they can be considered 'reliable' news to some. Maybe it's an American thing to do- get news not from a reliable news source, but one that agrees with what you believe. i do have a hang up about the news media anyways- but there's no room for it here and now.

Why is liberal a bad word? Jesus speaks more of caring for the poor than judgement. That's liberal. Jesus stood up for prostitute, again, liberal. He was much more radical, and liberal than we give him credit.

A friend of mine was at a toastmasters meeting (public speaking), there was woman there who said that maybe we should send the politicians to the moon- so they can see the world for what it is, and what connects us goes so much deeper than what separates us.

We are all humans capable of horrible things- but why can't we look to find the good instead of bad. Why can't we find what we have in common and fight for those things. why can't we listen to those we don't always agree with, and love all who were created by the same Creator who created us- a Creator who loves us each so intimately, and fulfill what we were created to do- love.

Believe in you


i see this written on the sidewalk on the corner of NE 15th & Alberta.
It's a nice reminder.

Yesterday it dawned on me that i have been home for a month, and that seems like a lifetime ago. i deeply struggle within myself processing out my trip. Maybe because although i am changed, it was easy to slip back into life at home.
For me it was amazing, and has deeply impacted my life. i cannot ever be the same, but at times i find it so difficult to verbalize my feelings.
i miss it there. . . It now becomes an ache in my soul that my not be fulfilled until i return again and again. It's funny because Portland so much is my home, and for the most part there is nowhere else i would rather be. However, as i look through my pictures i think of how much i miss the faces staring back at me.
It was hard putting my photos in an album. Honestly this is something that i am still struggling with. . . The faces, each with a story to tell and the responsibility i feel to tell their stories of joy, hope, stigma, and struggle. i realized as i was looking through my pictures that i did take some interesting shots that were artsy- but they were of stuff, and not of people. It hit me like a freight train when i was placing the photos on the pages that i couldn't, and didn't want to take 'artsy' pictures of people because then it becomes about the photo and not the person. i struggled with why i was taking their picture, which is probably why it was so easy to take like fifty pictures of the kids playing.
Now i feel like there will always be this awkwardness of the realization of what i have. i have the luxury of placing these photos in a scrap book with pretty paper, and the ability to make it look cool- but that doesn't feel right. Because if all i care about is what is cool then i do a disservice to myself (because that is not who i am), and to allow the Creator to create beauty in the mundane.


This is my friend, Erin, taking video footage of a girl we met while we were at the Ntyuka Health Center in Dodoma. This girl is my favorite memory. In my brief time with her, although we did not speak the same language i felt our souls touch, and realized that after meeting her i would never be the same.

Crush

i use this word, and it might be a good word to use in relation to relations. . . It seems odd to use a word that as a noun is used to describe infatuation, and interest when as a verb it's harmful.

Oxford says about crush:
1. to press so as to break or injure, or wrinkle, to squeeze tight.
2. to pound into small fragments.

Hello world, here is my soul

Last night i watched the movie 'the last kiss'-which i truly hated. i think mostly i hated the idea of another aimless boy stuck in the peter pan faze of life. Watching 'knocked up' really was depressing as well. Being a female gen-x-er--these two movies are a really awful interpretation of men, and our generation.
i don't see hope there. i guess each movie is supposed to end with hope-but what i walk away with is not hope, it's just sadness.
i have to say that i am more comfortable with disappointment that pops up in life, and i am terrible at hoping- honestly. i don't really think about it, because if i don't name it, it's not there, and it's safer- which is a lie.

This is so much more depressing than i thought i was going to be, and much more vulnerable.

Why i hated the last kiss was this- with his life ahead of him, he saw only an end.
He thought of himself, sacrificed his future for the present regardless of others' feelings, and he still sort of got what he wants in the end--which i guess is how grace works, getting something we do not deserve because of anothers' love for us.

.

Most of the times i don't remember my dreams-although at times i have some that totally take the cake. i almost could blame it on the fact that i accidently took my malaria medication Sunday but i had my dream Monday night so it probably wasn't the medication. . . i did think though that it did warrant a blog- warning you may want a broom because there is a lot of name dropping . . .
Fade to dream~
Jennifer Aniston and I walk into the boss' office, who happens to be James Spader, he is in there with two nurses, and this guy who who is being interogate. James Spader tells this guy 'you've left us no other choice'-the drags the guy to the window, and then throws him out the window. The guy is hung from the window because he has shoe laces tied around his wrists (some how he is supposed to suffocate this way).
However we manage Jennifer Aniston and I get away, and sneak out of the office get to her car, noticing that our boss is still there. She drives me back to my place- where James Spader is there waiting for us. He has potted tulips for each of us, i think as a peace offering. Then Jennifer Aniston is gone, and i am left alone with James Spader and we have our options of playing the Cher edition of Candyland, Cher edition of Checkers, or the Cher edition of twister.

Then my alarm went off.

When it don't come easy

For some reason i have the welcome back kotter theme song stuck in my head.
i seem to have these random thoughts that go through my head, like before i left i thought- 'next time i'm here, i will have come from Africa'. . . Last night i had that same thought- except reverse. It seemed so weird to experience something that i have looked forward to for so long, and what i've talked about for so long to be over- but it's not truly over because i want to go back. However, it will take awhile for me to recover from the 40 hours of travel that we experienced both ways.
At times i found African culture overwhelming with their willingness to give every part of them. i also found it overwhelming to come home, and to be so segregated here. It's not my intention to rant, and i'm not- but i realize how lonely it can be and how it feels almost wrong to not acknowledge someone you see walking down the street.
i am so tired too. i went to bed around midnight, and woke up at 5:30 AM, and couldn't go back to sleep. i need to stay up at least until 9. i'm glad i took off the week from work, there is no way that i am good company right now. i am a lot more anxious than i usually am.

Lucky for me i made sure that i'm not doing anything so i can readjust.

minor miracles

The fact that i can be calm and rational and cool always surprises me. Usually because in my head it's the complete opposite.

Right now it's kind of hard for me to adjust to the idea of being gone for three weeks is hard. Only because i know too well that the world here will still be proceeding at its current pace.

i've been doing some stalking of this artist that i saw a couple months ago at a first Thursday exhibit. There he was reflective the painting of my dreams. A pensive looking young man looking off into space. For some reason i felt an infinity with a painting, A PAINTING- which may sound weird, but there are times that something will move your soul and captivate your being. i went searching, knowing that there was someone who by now owned the painting i love. The woman at the gallery confirmed my dread- someone else had purchased my reflective soul mate. However, she knew the artist who is local, and called him to ask if he would be willing to paint another painting- not identical because where is the true art in that- but one with the similar qualities. i always hated being the one who asked for special treatment, even if it's not a big deal- but here i truly don't want to offend a talented artist who paints how he feels. i have to say those moments of inspiration are rarely duplicated, and sometimes it's for the best. He did agree, and i feel humbled by the thought of someone painting something of that nature just for me.

On my way home today after the glory of the gallery i was waiting for my bus across from Powell's . i like to people watch, and often feel bad for those who stand selling magazines, or newsprint- especially since they aren't always treated with the respect that every human desires. It was funny, because i could have sworn that it looked like my cute bus driver was standing there handing out something that inspired him. i knew i would never get it out of my head if i just went home- and honestly i can never turn Powell's down. It's like the mother ship calling me home. i say this gingerly, if i were to sell my soul it would be for books or music. (i digress i know)
In my head i thought, "what do i have to loose by just walking by?" So again i crossed the street, trying to figure out how to get a good look w/o being looked at. Well, that didn't really work, why? Because when he sees(yes, because it was him) me he says "i recognize you, i'm a bus driver i think you're on my route." (my first thought was 'and i gave you my number last year that could be noted in history as the most unsmooth way to give someone your number- hey that's how i roll) Apparently his passion- socialism, just in case you were curious. we made small talk about the wonders of Powell's and that he spends hours in the leftist section, and that i just love books and i will read just about anything that will keep my attention (i am now realizing- this may not have been good on my part to say this because it makes me sound stupid or shallow). So i realized that i didn't know how to keep the conversation going so i made polite said i needed to go inside. Plus at this point i realize that i don't have a clue about the socialist's appeal, and i want to save pace. i admit, i am interested in the idea of socialism, and curious about marxism, so for me it's no judgement that he's selling his marxist literature. i think that's the beauty of this country, the ability to peacefully support your cause.
At this point, i can't concentrate, i am now getting to spot where i don't feel overwhelmed in Powell's. It's my candy store, and i want to overdose so bad. i did find a book by a feminist author my friend talks about.
AND i did see him on my way out, asked if he had sold another newsprint, wished him luck, and told him to take care.

i don't know how to say how liberated i felt. It felt amazing to converse and not vomit, it felt amazing to be able to walk away and not feel that i ever threw myself at him. i feel rational, i'm always amazed when i feel that i've acted like an adult- because even at 30 i still feel like a little kid, and that my mom will tell me it's time to come home and get ready for bed.

getting ready

It always amazes me how time flies. . . Although with all that is going on it can believe it.
It is official, i'm allergic to spring, and basically everything that i love about Oregon. . . except the rain, i love the rain, and so far i'm not allergic to the rain. . . i am however allergic to nuts. . . which will drive me crazy, i did get sunflower butter. It's not too bad, it's no peanut butter though. . . i am hoping that altering my diet will affect how i am feeling. i really don't seem to have much energy, so maybe knowing this will help me feel better- and help the break outs.
The countdown has begun, in two weeks i'll be leaving for Tanzania. It still feels surreal to me. . . Although all the random things i'm buying, and the shots i guess makes it feel real. . . i go between being excited, and a little panicky about the unknown.
i may do a blog or two on the lahash blog: www.hopeisalive.com.

i might like spring if...

my allergies didn't go haywire every year.

The sniffles, the runny nose, the mass quantities of tissue shoved in any pocket, watery red puffy eyes. . . i hate to whine, but a girl cannot function when she cannot see. i was joking with a co-worker today that the red watery puffy eyes really accentuates the raw runny nose. It's all the rage in Milan---

The worst part is i take stuff- this year has been bad!


It looks as if it will be a season of glasses, eye drops and tissue. . . And will be breathing through my mouth since breathing through my nostrils seem almost impossible. . .

i really love the lyrics of Patty Griffin, i have used her words before. She knows the words that my heart never seems articulate enough to say. This is my favorite Patty song because of the acknowledgment of despair, but even through the pain and acknowledgment of the lack of hope, hope still seems to be alive. If you don't know her, i recommend her. i love her, she has changed my life- i can never listen to music the same way- she sings the words of my soul.

The Sunday after, there was laughter in the air
Everybody had a kite they were flying everywhere
And all the trouble went away and it wasn't just a dream
All the trouble went away, and it wasn't just a dream

In the middle of the night
We try and try with all our might
To light a little light down here
In the middle of the night
We dream of a million kites
Flying high above the sadness and the fear

Little sister, just remember as you wander through the blue
The little kite that you sent flying on a Sunday afternoon
Made of something light as nothing
Made of joy that matters too
How the little dreams we dream are all we can really do

In the middle of the night
The world turns with all its might
A little diamond, colored blue
In the middle of the night
We keep sending little kites
Until a little light gets through

not alone...

It never ceases to amaze me when i am feeling my worst that when i share my burden, my ache, my sorrow that the pain i feel eases. The funny thing is, that scary thing i feel so bad about most of the time isn't really as bad it feels inside of me.
Maybe those are the lies we grow up with, you are alone, nobody will understand you, you will be loved conditionally, you are unworthy. . .
It must be there where we learn to wear masks. It's there where we learn not to be true to who we are. But often i find that when i am honest, even at the fear of isolating others, i find comfort. But maybe that has to be for someone true to understand the baring of ones' own soul, even if it costs respect. i know some who may be reading this are some who have said to me "i was afraid to say anything because i didn't want you to think less of me." As someone who lives this fear i hurt. i hurt that there could be judgement there- and as much as i wish that i could say i would never judge. . . to say never could prove to be sooner than i thought. But that shouldn't detour us from being honest, sharing our lives, and striving to live into this thing called community.
For me it's my refuge where i realize i am not alone, because more than likely i haven't been the only one struggling, and that when we share our burdens we are living.

becoming Pam

Do you ever at work look for the camera because something one person does makes you think you are about to be punked? Honestly it's like everyday at work for me. There are times that i think, "this really can't be happening?!"

i do feel like i should be apart of The Office- which means with the odd things that happen between me and my new boss, and the comments made-make me Pam Beesely. Well, almost every situation with most of my co-workers resembles the show.

i thought about something like a "10 reasons your boss is Michael Scott". . . But i'm pretty sure they'd be found, and i didn't want to have to explain anything. . .

Now, where is my Jim Halpert?

How are you doing?

i had a conversation with friends a couple weeks ago about that four words. It's funny that an intentional question at times when asked tends to request an insincere reply.
When we respond with the genuine- "well, i feel miserable, i am questioning everything i do/am, i had a fight with a loved one, i am lonely. i feel no hope" answer, it throws the other person off. i guess it also depends on who's asking the question too. i admit i often lie and say i'm fine with someone i don't want to share any personal information with.
Last week i had made a comment about the conversation with a co-worker, and she had said "how are you?" is the Portland hello. Which could be true. There are people that i will ask them every time i see them, and when i realized that for the 17th time i had seen them-17 times i had said "how are you/how's it going?" i then wondered if they thought i was crazy/ or that i was obsessed with how they were- which when you don't know them too well is creepy.
Since the conversation i have felt challenged to really mean the question i ask. . .
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i finished the baby blanket yesterday. Seriously- i can never do that again. i felt so disjointed during, like i had forgotten how to properly talk to other humans. So, i'm sorry for anyone that felt awkward with my lack of conversation, and the blank stares. i have returned to the living.

i thought i was being proactive on a baby blanket i am making, only to find out that i need to have it done by Wednesday at the latest. Now with this under the gun feeling not only am i carrying over this anxiety from work, but in my personal life as well.