Someone is sitting in the next room interviewing for my job. How my world has turned in two years. It's sunset now on this day, but it's all oranges and pinks and I'm soaking it in.

:: heard it in church ::

He said it as more of an after-thought. The sermon was about the parable of the wise man and the foolish man, about building on a solid foundation. At the end, a few points were made towards the "have a solid foundation of your own" principle. That's when he made this statement about strength. He said masts, back in the day, were a solid piece of wood made from one really straight tree. The ship-builders would go into the forest and choose a tree for a mast, then cut down the trees right around it. They would leave it to weather wind and storms by itself before returning to cut the tree down for the mast. It would be strong enough then.

I'll probably forget most of what else the sermon was about, but I won't forget that. I've felt like that tree before. Sometimes I feel like that right now. It's good to know lonely might mean mast-making plans are already in effect.

Does life change need to be cataclysmic in order to be effective? They're looking at me like I should be shaking from the shock and instead I'm skipping down the sidewalk. I didn't notice the full eclipse; that is, from where I stand it's always been sunshine so I don't know why you're asking if I'm afraid of the dark. It says "Eat me" so I'm eating. The question now is, will I be growing or shrinking?

I'm thinking I'll be doing both.

The following are the most encouraging words I've read all day. They were written to someone else, but I am buoyed too.

Don't postpone joy -- God is going to see you on to triumph.

:: home ::

When I'm driving down the 8 and start to see familiar signs, ones like "El Cajon Blvd." and "2nd Street," I feel like I'm driving home. After trying to figure out Chicago's freeways for three days last fall, I remember how good it felt to know where I was going again. I was going home.

Target looks almost the same everywhere, but there's something about the one I always go to. I don't get lost looking for the baby section (yesterday I bought a green Easter dress for Ellise). I know where the photo albums are.

The Submarina near my house has only three employees that I know of, and all of them know the sandwich I want. Three inch Santa Fe on wheat, please, and she's already cutting the wheat bread.

If you spin the globe and stop almost exactly half-way around, your finger will be on a spot where another dining establishment knows what I want when I'm walking in the door. Daun ubi, nangka, rendang, and she's adding extra sauce because that's how I like my rice: wet.

It's safe to say there's no place like home, but I don't know where I'd end up if I started clicking my heels together. Today it was Jamul, and I loved today.

I got stuck in the snow today. Really, really stuck. Two other girls were with me in what was a highly unsuccessful attempt to cut across (through trees and untouched snow) from one run to another. It seemed like it would work, and in retrospect I guees it did. We got to the other run: it's just that most of getting there involved crawling on hands and knees to avoid sinking into the powder. I've never sweat so much in the snow. By the time I got up to the other side, I think I was a much better snowboarder. I appreciated standing up so much more than I had earlier in the day. I was pretty much grateful for everything, including, but not limited to: gloves, warm socks, people to share experiences with, shade when it's hot, finishing.

:: mammoth ::

I loved the view from up there, my friends dotting the white mountain and God blowing snow over the top in little whisps.

:: the up side ::

Last week I was given about 100 or so checks that need to be deposited, receipted, and thanked. That's what I do. I make sure donors are tracked and thanked. Anyways, I hate data entry. I don't really care if the sheet balances in the end; I just want the paper to have a nice watermark or some creative little flair on the edge.

But I'm improving. See, ever since I was little, I've always watched the flying fingers of cashiers and envied their number-punching prowess. If only I could be like that. For that reason, the goal took up residence on my Master To-Do List (however close to the bottom), and I can now check it off. Yes, I am now Number Queen. All of those checks and their accompanying addresses and phone numbers (a phone number: Yes! Ten more numbers to practice!) have made me quite savvy. Try me. 29,028 ft. 25,000 mi. 5280 ft. 619-590-1750. I'm quick.

The first year I wrote some awkward poem about a hawk and Wyoming. It was from a prompt that everyone else had passed up because they didn't know what to write about Wyoming. My last year was one about Auschwitz, which was poetic biography when I wanted it to be autobiography. Sandwiched in the middle, my junior year of poetry-submitting, is the one I've had in my head for the last few days because I've been feeling it. I haven't changed the lines since I first wrote it because it is its own little entity apart from me but somehow always a part of me. And today it is the background music in my mind.

Learning to Love You

I think that I was born in center stage;
I’ve always been the brightest star, the perfect flower.
And I loved it.
I'd pull my ballet slippers on with great fanfare
And tiptoe to the big, round light, where I belonged.
I'd bow, they’d cheer; I sang, they’d hear,
And beg me just to stay a little more.

But nothing gold can stay and in my life I’ve found that true.
I've hung up my pink toe-shoes, dimmed the lights,
And now I say:
If all the world’s a stage, then I will be the audience.
Your light makes mine so pale and yet I know
It’s only right that I should clap and you should bow.
You can play and they will hear;
You will shine, and I will cheer.

"There's so much settling." I came across this phrase in my journal today. He said it in a conversation we had two months before he took a semester off school to go on the Invisible Children National Tour. I'm not sure how he is right now because I've only talked to him once since he left, briefly. But none of the things he said in those five minutes sounded like settling.

:: identify ::

I discovered somewhere in this past month that I really like Rocky Road ice cream. As I pulled out the carton to indulge tonight, I was wondering why I'd never really had it before now. Then I remembered that one deformed character in the Goonies, the one who really liked Rocky Road. I think that's what ruined it for me. I didn't want to be like him.

This week, I tried to read a person's account of the abuse they endured as a battered wife. I wanted to; I coudn't. It was too graphic. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to forget. I would never be like her.

Fortunately for my growth as a person, my mind doesn't let these things go. I kept thinking about that woman, and the more I thought about her the more I wanted to care enough to feel even the tiniest measure of her pain. Something in us (or is it just me?) tells us to shield away pain. But I want to identify. Eating Rocky Road ice cream doesn't turn me into that monster-character, but I understand now why he liked it.

And if I did become like them, or at least shared in the discomfort, would that be the worst thing that could happen? Jesus became like me, weak like me. He has set the ultimate example. Teach me, Lord.

It's raining now, the kind that falls in such small drops that it doesn't make any noise, like crying in the shower.

Lastnight I learned how to play one of JR's songs, from JR. It felt more original that way.

I'm going through a Latin & Arabic music phase. You should join me. It's some of the happiest music I've ever heard.

Everything is coming out in fragments, because I haven't slept enough to collect my thoughts in one place. (apologies)

They say there's a chance of storm,
but I know:
It's either going to rain or not.
It isn't up to chance, and just in case you were wondering,
The clouds are building and I think it's raining somewhere else.
But that's no promise of precipitation
Here, where I am standing
Alone.

:: walk in them ::

My blog and I have a few things in common, it seems. One of those is we are both trying to decide what we want to be. In the case of the blog, I am a bit envious of the low stakes. Whether it is a good one or a bad one, in the end it's just a blog. And we grieve the shabby ending of the thing for about ten seconds before moving on to someone else's - perhaps more visually stimulating or full of links to the many wild things on the internet.

But a life... a life. Many decisions were already made for me, things like extroversion, parents, height... and I wonder how much is my simply walking in those and how much is left to a choice of footwear to decide now if I will run a marathon, climb a mountain, dance, or go barefoot in the jungle.

I spent most of Friday in my car, in conversation with the person next to me. She told me glorious things like how Finnish people (she's from Finland) have a big celebration each year on the day the sun doesn't set. There's also a city in the northernmost part of Europe that is famous for the fact that the sun not only doesn't set, it travels in a big circle in the sky. But because we're both missionary kids, we didn't just talk about celestial phenomena; much of our conversation was about identity and purpose, loneliness and longing. We talked about Ephesians and about good things prepared in advance for us, "that we should walk in them." For now, I want to speak Spanish, talk about God in a way that reaches the 15-year-old girls in my small group, be a good friend, and see the needs around me.

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." Soren Kierkegaard