The Thought of Being Free Has Entered Many Minds

Rubble Is The Ground...

2005-03-20T22:25:00.000-05:00

I've been reading Anne Lamott's newest book of essays, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. Though not for the faint-hearted or the conservative-hearted - let's just say that Ms. Lamott is not on the pep squad for the Bush administration - I've enjoyed the read. She's a broken women with a messy life who finds an honest hope in Jesus but perhaps not the sort of hope that many evangelicals expect from their fellow believers. I think her brokenness, her messiness, her clinging, and her perseverence should cause us to pay attention because I think we all need to be reminded to be broken, messy, clinging, and to keep at it becasue I think it's easy to forget that these things are not just ok, but good.

Anyway, I wanted to share one quote that I came across because I thought it was well put. So without further ado...

I have survived so much loss, as all of us have by our forties-my parents, dear friends, my pets. Rubble is the ground on which our deepest friendships are built. If you haven't already, you will loose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and you will never completely get over the loss of a deeply beloved person. But this is also good news. The person lives forever, in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through, and you learn to dance with the banged-up heart. You dance to the absurdities of life; you dance to the minuet of old friendships. [Plan B, 147]

Some of Life's Sweetness

2005-03-14T15:00:00.000-05:00

Last night, our church moved into its new location since we had very much outgrown the building we had been using. Because my life spirals down its personal vortex, we are now renting space from the church my family attended through most of my childhood, only the church had since relocated and renamed. It was kind of strange to see the old paraphernalia from my memories in this new crisp room: the wooden cross that used to hang in the baptismal, the flags that we carried in each day during vacation bible school, the banners of a dove and a burning bush that somebody made for some reason that I can’t remember.

I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew since we didn’t usually cross paths with the church members at the space we had been rented, so when I met a lady outside the office, I just introduced myself by saying, “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

“I don’t think I’ve met you either,” she responded. “I’m Faye.”

Something familiar clicked but I didn’t understand. I pointed to my chest and said softly, “I’m Jamie. I know you.”

Then she hugged me joyously and cupped my face in both her hands and smiled at me in at there-you-are-Peter sort of way. Once she found the child in the adult’s face, she exclaimed “I loved this girl!”

I’ve never been greeted like that before and I was genuinely touched. She was just there in case our childcare workers needed anything. That was actually pretty much all we said since I had to run back to the stage to finish setting up music. I was moved and I wanted to share.

I'm Sure You Must Be Weary, Dear

2005-03-09T12:12:00.000-05:00

This is a speech I received from a three-year-old last night. I usually end up spending the night when I baby-sit him, especially if his folks are coming home late, since I live pretty far away.

So where are you going to be in the morning, Jamie? Because, see, we have four beds and one of them is just for Guests and it's in Grandmamma's Room, but grandmomma's not here right now so you can have that one, ok? It's just down the hall; you just need to go straight ahead. It's ok, you won't get lost - just remember, go straight ahead.

And don't worry, Jamie, we'll have a little bit of time to play in the morning before you have to go home. It will be all right. We'll eat breakfast and we'll play, ok?

Everyday Low Prices

2005-03-06T15:38:00.000-05:00

Because of copyrights, I can't really post the image, however, you guys should check out this Sunday's Boondock comic strip. It's truly a full color affair,

So He Said To His Mother, “I Am Running Away”

2005-03-02T21:25:00.000-05:00

I met a four-year-old at the grocery story yesterday. Her mom and I were both looking at teas and the kid looked a little bored. I noticed she was wearing a pretty pink scarf so I looked up and said, “Hey! That’s a beautiful scarf you’re wearing.”

“Thank you,” she responded.

“Did someone make it for you?” I asked

“No, my mommy gave it to me!” was the answer.

“Actually,” interrupted the mother, “I did make it for her.”

“It’s really great,” I replied. Then, turning to the girl, “You must be awful special for someone to make you such a great scarf!”

“I am special!” she exclaimed with all her heart. “Mommy says I am so special all the time!”

It’s amazing what little kids can get away with. This girl was not boasting; she was relaying facts to me: (1) that she knew she was something special and (2) that she knew this because her mother made sure she was told this all the time. If a twelve-year-old had said this, we would all jump to the conclusion that he or she was conceited – at least, those of us who grew up Southern would jump to this conclusion, though I seriously doubt we Southerns are alone in this prejudice.

It’s funny though. I think if we were to let ourselves be honest, we would all agree that we want what this girl has: to know without a shadow of a doubt that we are special, valued, and needed – AND we want to know this to such a degree that we would not be afraid to proclaim it to a stranger trying to pick out the right chamomile tea. It’s not that we want to be thought of as conceited, but we do want the confidence that conceited people seem to radiate.

Why don’t we know this? I believe that most of us know very few, if any, people we would consider invaluable, and useless clones. Actually, maybe we do, unfortunately, consider many people to be just this, but I wonder if we have actually taken the time to get to know them. See, a four-year-old child asks a lot from her parent(s): they must put her to bed on time, keep her safe from accidents, clean up spills when she tries to help, clean up vomit when she is sick, wake up at the crack of dawn because she is not tired anymore, etc. Also, a parent does not keep (or should not keep) a list of gains such as “I changed your diapers for over a year, now you must do all my laundry until you are 30.” What is it that makes us tell a child they are so special over and over again?

So, a four-year-old child could know indubitably that she is special and if everyone we encounter is valuable if we take the time to look for it. I ask again, why do we have such a hard time believing this of ourselves? Why is, nestled in our deepest fears, the terror that we don’t add up to much? Is it all the mistakes we have made along the way? Is it because we were not loved properly when we were children? Have we spent too many weeks under Murphy’s Law? Is it that someone has told us we were worthless and we believed them? Why is it that we will call everything and everyone under the sun worthy, but can’t believe it of ourselves?

What A Dangerous World!

2005-02-14T22:41:00.000-05:00

Or, a story about prejudice.

I’ve been parking my car these days a couple of miles from where I work. Actually, I have no idea how far it is - I’m a terrible just at distances - but it is a 15-20 minute walk, so however far I can get in this amount of time is how many miles away I park. Anyway, all you need to know for the story I’m about to recount is that I have been walking to work through an imperfect section of town. What I mean is that I, as a women, would not be comfortable walking this street after the sun goes down. However, I don’t believe it’s unsafe, but I’m a little guarded at the same time.

So I am walking down this not completely unsafe street alone while being slightly guarded when an old sedan pulls up a block ahead of me and just sits there, right where the sidewalk gives out and you have to squeeze between the parked cars, the parking meters, and a short wall. Well, I was sure as hell not walking right beside an old, beat-up car that may or may not be waiting for me. I don’t like to misjudge things, but I have seen enough to be comfortable being afraid at times.

So, I pulled out trick number one. Since it was raining and the sidewalk was about to give out, I decided to cut through the parking lot that is on the other side of the wall. I figured, if the car’s driver had ill intentions, there would be some distance and maybe he would be discouraged from his evil plot. However, if the car’s driver was just some poor guy who had coincidentally parked his car at that time and place, then he would think I was just trying to keep my shoes dry. I was feeling pretty swell at this point.

Until the car drove up one more block and waited. Now he is parked next to a construction site where, to pass, I will have to come within four feet of his car. You have to understand that this street is totally barren for the most part excepting passing traffic - especially on a rainy day. I’ll admit that I was scared at this point, but I fortunately don’t panic in the moment which leaves me free to think. I went through all the possibilities: this guy wants to harm me in some way, this guy is lost and needs directions, etc. At the same time, I’m gathering together all my current modes of escape.

Finally, I decided that there was no way anything crazy could happen unless I passed close enough to the car to be pulled in. Since the car was in front of me, I could get a pretty good start if I crossed to the other side of the street where there are a few stores. The car would then have to turn around on a street not quite big enough for a U-turn. (Always go the opposite way if a car is harassing you!) So I reached the end of the parking lot, was walking to the street keeping an extremely close eye on the car when suddenly...

...the world’s friendliest face appeared. “Hey, Jamie! Need a ride? I tried to get your attention, but I couldn’t get the window down.” It was my friend Tim, the congenial hooligan who likes potpourri and organizational charts with the “evil” intention of driving me to my car so I would have to walk in the rain any longer.

Sometimes I get things completely wrong, though I’ll probably make the same mistake again!

First Cup of Coffee Tastes Like Washing Up

2005-02-14T12:00:00.000-05:00

I have GOT to buy new coffee. My current stock is utterly depressing. There's nothing like bitter, grainy coffee to put a frown on your day.

I also need to figure out a way to make coffee at work; it's a little tricky with no sink and no refrigerator. I can bring in a gallon jug of water since I'm a little loath to drink the water from our floor's communal bathroom. However, what would be easiest to clean: a mini-French press or a four-cup drip filter? I guess I could transport cream in those mini-Nalgene bottles (4 oz.). Sugar is not too complex considering I still have 437 packets of raw sugar. This is really all about saving money. I just don't think I can keep doing $10+ per week on caffeine, nor do I think I can cut down at this point. I'm trying to compromise.

Next on my list is to force myself to eat better. Because of bloodsugar issues I need to eat a good breakfast and a good lunch. The problem is that I eat too slowly and drive too far to eat breakfast at home and that I have eaten sandwiches for lunch for about five years now and I can't enjoy them anymore. Does anyone have any good, simple, and portable suggestions? To complicate matters, I need a significant amount of protein (equivalent of a cheese or peanut butter sandwich), plus I can't do very much wheat flour unless it's stone-ground or processed sugars.

Just Think Lovely Wonderful Thoughts

2005-02-09T13:08:00.000-05:00

Here is a my current list of my ten greatest & most consistent joys. Don't expect anything too profound, but I was feeling thankful and thought I would share.

Friends who turn their schedules upside down (or skip something they were looking forward to) in order to take me out to dinner.
Gilmore Girls.
O a t s
Three-year-olds who have worked the word "Actually" into their daily vocabulary
One-year-olds who fill my arms with various baby dolls and then force me to rock them all at once.
J.K. Rowling's wealth of knowledge and vast imagination.
Jasper Fford's wealth of knowledge and vast imagination.
The iPod.
Goldfish Crackers.
Overalls.

I feel like I should add David Beckham's right foot (and perhaps his left), but - alas - I have run out of room.

Public Service Announcement

2005-02-08T14:01:00.000-05:00

"We've all come here tonight to tell you that hope will kill you."
I wanted to inform all of you with good streaming capacities that there is a hour long Sam Phillips concert on NPR. For those who haven't picked up on this fact, she is one of my absolute favorite songwriters and she has a way of saying something profound in obscure phrases. Basically, she's great and you should listen.

So, in Ms. Phillips honor, I am giving out related bonus questions at three points a-piece. However, the catch is that each person can only answer one question - though you can try another if you get your first guess wrong.

~~Sam Phillips once played under the name ___________.~~
~~What was the title of Ms. Phillips' very first release?~~
~~What is the title of her last?~~
Sam once compared the CCM industry to the which film?
Define "Torch Music." (Ahem. Careful using Google here!)
~~Sam's voice is featured on what well-known TV sitcom?~~

I'm Lost in the Supermarket

2005-02-04T15:46:00.000-05:00

I'm currently taking suggestions for places to pursue employment. Benefits and enough money to live on are primary as well as a reasonably low stress environment. If these places exist, let me know!

Oh! Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying!

2005-02-03T14:31:00.000-05:00

I think I need a new line of employment. I am up to a minimum of 40 oz. of coffee per day, I’m listening to electronic pop/techno music like Frou Frou at absurdly loud principles, I’m either extremely oversleeping or extremely undersleeping, dinner is the first meal of the day I really have time for, and I have no patience reserves meaning that I’m in constant fear of loosing it (further draining the reserves.) I’m even dreading my woodworking class just because it’s one more thing to do. I only took this job because I could come put in my hours and go home with no burdens and now I’ve somehow become stuck in the middle of a crisis I didn’t create and it seems like everyone wants me on their side and I don’t know who’s in charge and, really, I just don’t care anymore – yet I feel responsible to stick around until things are smoothed over. When should I say screw it all and run out the door like my life depended on it?

I think someone needs to make me a uniform for my birthday next week reading Death By Employment.

Sleep the Clock Around

2005-02-02T13:48:00.000-05:00

I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair...

I took benadryllast night to clear up my allergies figuring this would be its only benefit since it has be virtually ineffective in making me more sleepy recently. When the alarm went off this morning, I hit snooze more than a few times like I normally do then I finally sat up feeling that my head was extremely heavy - and it was suddenly 10:48! I am not the clearest thinker in the morning and it took me a minute to figure out how and why it had gone from 7:30 to 10:48 in an eight minute snooze allotment until I realized that I must have turned off the alarm accidentally - or worse, have slept through the whole thing. I admit that I swore at this moment of clarity.

So, I called work, made coffee, lost my cell phone that I had just used to call work, searched for twenty minutes until I found it, skipped picking up my prescription, bought a hamburger at McDonald's (it's cheap), paid for parking, walked to my building, turned on my computer, and I've been organizing papers since. However, it being 1:00 now, and though I've only been here for an hour, I'm going for coffee because I am still foggy. I think I'm going to have to start shooting for nine hours of sleep a night instead of eight.

(Sorry this post is so topsy-turvy. I think I'm still running on adrenaline.)

All Depending on the Kindness of Strangers

2005-01-27T11:46:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to tell everyone that one of the things I most appreciate is when the people behind the desk are non-judgmental when you come to pay your bill late. I don't mind when they tell me there's a late fee: if I pay my bills late, it is my fault and there are usually consequences for our mishaps. However, fussing at me is probably not going to change the present - or even the future seeing as all my best intentions will fall short eventually.

However, today's interactions with the "bill collectors" were of the positive sort meaning that their value of me was not connected to the timeliness of my payments to which I am grateful.)

Rules Of The Game

2005-01-24T15:33:00.000-05:00

I'm going to try a new approach to blogging here in 2005, basically mocking my idiosyncrasies.

How to Play :

I am always making obscure cultural references, most obviously in my blog titles. So this year, I am going to award points to the first person to place a particular reference. Each person is allowed one response with one guess for each reference. Extra guesses will be ignored, but the only guess. I promise to ignore you personally.

Point Structure

Origin of a Blog Title = 5 points
Origin of a Reference within a posting = 8 points (5 for the source, 3 for the searching
Particularly Difficult References = 10 points (PDR's are up to my discretion, including whether or not I choose to reveal a post contains a PDR.)
Bonus Questions = See Market Value
No points will be deducted for incorrect responses.

[Note: Since I make the references anyway, there should really not be any change in what I post.]

Other Details

Current scores will be listed under the Blogger logo in the right-hand column. By venturing a guess, you agree to have your name and score listed, however, in order to list your score, I will need your name therefore anonymous postings will be ignored, though not the anonymous poster.

The order of responses will be verified by the date & time listed in the comment box. Understanding that there will be some of us who will want to actually respond to the post and not just play, I am going to enable Blogger's comment system for normal commenting (since it will also email alerts) and will use a new commenting system for the 2005 Idiosyncratic Cultural Reference Game beginning with this post.

This game will end Dec. 31, 2005 at 11:59:59. Token prizes will be given to the top three finalists. In the case of a tie, an emailed list of five questions will be sent to the tied contestants, each question counting for one point. The tied contestants will have twenty-four hours to respond. The score of their correct responses will be added to their final score, hopefully creating a winner.

Good luck! (Oh, and there are two interior references in this post to get you started.)

Your Town Is Made For People Passing Through

2005-01-24T13:04:00.000-05:00

My whirlwind of a weekend is over and I think I need someone to give me the you're no longer eighteen, you're not even twenty-one lecture the next time I plan a twenty-four hour trip out-of-state.

I arrived in Nashville at 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, picked up my rental car. As I was walking out to my car (in the very back corner of the rental lot), it started to snow, really snow. I thought it best to find the church; first, because I have a - reasonable - fear of getting lost and, second, because I didn't want to get snowed in too far from the wedding. The snow began to taper off when I reached the church so, seeing a Subway in the distance, I decided to grab a 2:30 lunch then I headed to Walgreen's since I thought I could probably peruse the aisles for forty-five minutes while I talked on my cell phone.

I arrived at the wedding a half hour early, in time to watch the musicians rehearse. The wedding was nice: simple and classy. The groom was wearing a thrift-store tux and the bride and her matrons (everyone in the bride's party was married) carried lanterns on chains. My favorite part, which will be appreciated by everyone who knows Katy, was the corsages. From the back row I thought they were made of something similar to holly: they were really coffee beans!

The reception was at a friend's house down the road. It was very low-key and crowded, but not claustrophobically so. I milled around for a couple of hours, saw the cutting of the cupcakes and the dance (to Moon River, the only song Audrey Hepburn actually sang in a film.) At this point, I had reached my limit of hanging out with strangers so I left to visit my friends Randall and Amy in Franklin.

I don't really know Randall & Amy that well, mainly due to the fact that I only see them every couple of years, however, they are the sort of people you feel extremely comfortable around probably because they send off a very strong we-like-you-already-so-there's-no-need-to-impress-us vibe. I left when they were starting to fade, but armed with cookies, a CD, and my illusive banjo.

Next, I made my way back to the airport but made a pit-stop at McDonald's since it was the only fast food franchise that seemed open. Not to brag, but this was actually an extremely good move on my part because there was no one at any of the ticket counters to check in with which meant no food, no coffee, no nothing. I circled the external (and closed) food areas, politely declined to join in a card came with the college guys whose flight to Pittsburgh had been canceled, and found a corner behind the bolted rocking chairs near the vending machine room by an electrical outlet where I choose to camp out for the night (and please don't tell my mother!)

So I heated up my frigid hamburger in the vending room's microwave and proceeded to watch Garden State and The Cinderella Story. Both were funny, sweet, and very accessible in extreme fatigue. When Cinderella was over, it was time to check in. (Here is where I give US Airways extremely kudos because they were so nice to me about my banjo. Both flights put it into the captain's wardrobe to keep it safe without me having to beg - even though you are only technically allowed one carry-on bag.)

I fell asleep on the first flight before we took off and woke up when they announced - very loudly - that we could now take off our seatbelts and move about the cabin. Then I feel asleep again. Then there was the four hour layover in Charlotte caused by a delay in D.C. Then I arrived at RDU, was picked up by a friend, napped in their guest room, got jumped on by a three-year-old (once I was awake), drove home, fell asleep at nine, woke up at ten (a.m.), and now I am writing this though feeling quite out of it due to the lack & abundance of sleep.

This is your captain speaking. On behalf of myself and all my other manifestations, I would like to thank you for perusing the Thought of Being Free. We hope you have enjoyed your read. We are 58 words to the end, however, we would ask that you please remain seated until the post has come to a full and complete stop. We know you have a choice in blogs. The next time your leisure requires an on-line read, we hope that you will choose TBF.

[Five points to the first person who correctly pegs the title reference.]

Because Tim Is So Cool

2005-01-21T13:31:00.000-05:00

68% scored higher (more nerdy), and
32% scored lower (less nerdy).
What does this mean?

Your nerdiness is:
Not nerdy, but definitely not hip.

Hey!

2005-01-20T22:05:00.000-05:00

My niece can (finally) say my name! Of course, it sounds a little like "Lillian," but, hey, my standards are low for one-year-old pronunciation!

Resolutions

2005-01-20T21:58:00.000-05:00

Is it too late to post my New Year's Resolutions? I hope not because here they are.

I will not catch any more colds. (I've already had five, perhaps six, this year and my lungs are still recovering from number four.)
I will learn to play more of the Get Up Kid's repertoire so that I have something to sing when I want to play loud, fast music. Plus this means my brother and I will be able to serenade my niece properly.
I will read the major works of Dickens since I am determined to love him. David Copperfield is one of the five books to completely smitten me and I feel like my appreciation will increase the more I become accustomed to Dickens' style of writing.

So who's voting for my success?

Intellectuals

2005-01-20T21:32:00.000-05:00

I can across the best quote I have ever found defining the infamous "intellectual" in an essay about George Eliot and I just had to share.

An intellectual is a person who feels as much at home with ideas as with tangible things. This is why so few people are intellectuals. They discuss ideas as most of us discuss people. What we do as gossip, they do at an intellectual level, thinking about things that you can't see or touch – beauty, justice, and truth. An intellectual finds these as real as most of us find things that are concrete.

I also was taught, via this essay, that Silas Marner is "not the work to give a teenager to spark appreciation of the Victorian novel." It's a good thing that I was never told this because I have loved this novel since I first read it at age 15 – though I am now musing over the irony that a moral novel written by a "fallen" evangelical would have been the only novel assigned during my tenth grade year, the year I took correspondence classes from an extremely right-wing, conservative christian high school in Pensacola, Florida. It's a good thing they didn't buy into biographical literary criticism!

When I've Got Nothing To Say

2005-01-05T15:02:00.000-05:00

Actually, it's not that I don't have anything to say, but that my thoughts have lately been in unpostable arenas. Vague, yes, but I do want to apologize for the lack of writing. I'll keep my ears and eyes open for good posting material this week.

Random Thoughts

2005-01-04T13:27:00.000-05:00

The Smashing Pumpkins can be really great when you have a headache. I write songs that I don't really understand myself - could those poets I've never understood have written under the same pretense? Frozen food is a good thing to have on hand. A person on the street prophesying who spits towards people as they pass is most likely not a prophet.

Argh.

2004-12-09T01:13:00.000-05:00

I started writing a song earlier this evening hoping the words were not crap, but liking the melody very much. I looked over it before bed and realized that the words were actually all right, but that I had forgotten the melody. I used to be so anal about recording little snippets of anything I wrote so that nothing would be lost, but I began to realize that I never forgot the tune. I guess that I tend to write melodies against the chords so the chords contain a shadow of what i supposed to be singing. Unfortunately, I wrote this tune wandering around the house and put chords to it later so the guitar bit only adds depth to the melody, but it does not harmonize with it in any way. The only tune I can come up with is the last three notes Glasgow Love Theme from Love Actually which, beyond not being helpful at all, is just confusing me all the more. I am so frustrated!

Wow.

2004-11-30T23:20:00.000-05:00

If you happen to search for "Samantha: An American Girl movie" (in quotes, as such), you will be given two links: TheWB.com and The Thought of Being Free.

I don’t know how I feel about this. However, the words are right there on my site in that very order, so what can I say? It’s still just rather strange, I must say.

Announcements

2004-11-25T00:03:00.000-05:00

Apologies for the length of the earlier post. Perhaps I should blog more regularly.

Also, I have added links to other bloggers (as well as a few non-blog-related links) to the sidebar. Note that the blogs are ones I actually & those that are regularly updated.

Reflections on Samantha, Maria Full of Grace & Paul Miller

2004-11-24T20:10:00.000-05:00

I usually watch Gilmore Girls on Tuesday nights, but it was canceled last night in order to show Samantha: An American Girl Movie. Since I was cleaning my room (unfortunately, it’s a serious disaster area in progress), I thought I would leave it on to create some background noise thinking, at the very worst, it might be cute – and, besides, we don’t have cable and the W.B. is the clearest channel my television receives. I was actually pleasantly surprised, it was quite good. (Of course, it’s important to note that the target audience is probably 9-12 year olds, so please don’t draw comparisons to Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind or The Maltese Falcon.) However, I was honestly stunned by the depth of the piece. The story takes place in the early 1900’s, I believe. A girl named Samantha (who is around eleven) befriends a servant girl next door named Nelly who is her age. Through this friendship, Samantha has to come face to face with the issue of class in her society and, as she begins to see her privileged status more clearly, her heart is torn and inflamed by the injustice that “progress” has created and she sets out to remedy what she can. (Not bad stuff for a kid’s movie, eh?) I was also impressed that the story was also entertaining on top of the depth. I’ll leave it here because I don’t want to spoil anything in case anyone comes across it. It will be shown again on Thanksgiving night, so if you find yourself dusting and are in need of some background noise...

Continuing down the social-justice-in-film rabbit trail, I went to see Maria Full of Grace this weekend with my brother. I had heard a review months ago, but had forgotten all about it, however, the film happened to be playing at my brother’s university - so we went. The film is from Colombia and follows a seventeen year old girl named Maria as she begins life as a drug mule. The filmmakers did an incredible job of fleshing out her story. Why is she discontent with her lot? Is it reasonable for her to be so discontent? What are her options in life? Was her decision to enter the drug trade valid or invalid? Was the end result worth it? Are there others like Maria? And so the questions continue. It has been a long time since I have seen a film that seemed to give me a new angle of sight - as well as a deeply grieving heart. When the credits started to roll, it was as if time began to pulse again – it seemed incomprehensible that the film could actually be over. Hadn’t we just begun? (Note: The film runs for 101 minutes.) Let me just say that I highly, highly recommend this film.

On top of watching films and cleaning, I’ve also been rereading Paul Miller’s Love Walked Among Us on the bus to work. In it he talks about the compassion and love of Jesus and tries to impress upon the reader to learn to really see people and how to truly love them. It’s a hard read because he doesn’t leave any room for “Oh, that’s too bad” or “It’s not my problem.” Let me just insert a few quotes...

If we help someone and don’t take the time to look at the person and feel what he or she is feeling, our love is cold. And if we look and feel, but don’t do what we can to help, our love is cheap. Love does both.

We instinctively know that love leads to commitment, so we look away when we see a beggar. We might have to pay if we look to closely and care too deeply. Loving means loosing control of our schedule, our money, and our time. When we love, we cease to become the master and become the servant.

As I digest Miller's book, I realize that I am the antithesis to it all. I watch the above movies and care very deeply, but I don’t usually search an outlet for my compassion. I watch, reflect, and then continue to enjoy my life of advantage.

This has all set me to thinking what really moves me and what scares me. First of all, orphans move me very deeply, especially older orphans – so deeply, in fact, that it sometimes stresses me out that I am currently in no position to adopt a child, because I think I might seriously consider it if I was able, crazy as this sounds. However I am not financial stable enough to be even self-supporting – nor do I crave to be a single mother. Pity the man who marries me – especially if we can meet our needs – because one day this idea will obsess me!

Street people also move me – and they scare me. I can buy someone lunch, no problem. I can talk to someone, no problem. I can look someone in the eye everything I pass, hard but possible. However, I always feel that I am dealing the very tip of the iceberg and feel hopeless because I know that I am incapable of really helping – at least not permanently. It’s not even that I’m scared of the actual people in their actual difficulties (drug abuse, mental illness, etc.) – Jesus would have fed/talked/listened to anyone who was in need regardless of their societal appropriateness. It’s just that this is all I can do. Not only am I lacking in wisdom to be of real service, but also, at this point in time at least, I feel alone in this endevor because I don’t really know anyone else trying to shoulder their grief and their grief is overwhelming at times. However, perhaps this is not too much to ask of me, even if I must do so alone.

Finally, immigrants move me greatly. I get infuriated when Americans see Hispanics (as well as other immigrants) as a cause of societal ill. These individuals don’t see anything beyond jobs & law and completely miss the riches that other nationalities can bring to this nation of immigrants. I also have a great compassion for people who cannot communicate because they are still struggling in English. I still remember how it feels to spend months unable to communicate except in basic language and how small and alone that can make you feel. I could tutor English, learn Spanish, hang out with my mother’s friends from Iran, but I do none of the above. Time is an issue, but, working backwards through the list, even a very small effort is possible and could be of real service.

This world is a dim, dreary place sometimes. I’m extremely glad that these films end hopefully, each in its own way. It is good to be reminded of the darkness, but to be reminded that all is not hopeless and it is worthwhile to act. Remember Ms Which? “Wee wwill cconnttinnue tto ffightt!” This is not a bad thing to remember. I am also extremely glad to know that Jesus spent most of his ministry with the lowest of society. It is extremely hard for me when Christians look at me like I’m nuts when I begin to mourn the lot of Colombian coffee growers (and they look at me as if I’m even more nuts for suggesting they should pay a measly four cents extra per espresso shot that would go directly to the coffee growers.) I usually leave feeling labeled as a bloody liberal, an anti-capitalist, or at best “not one of us.” Sometimes I can’t decide whether I should rage or just give up. Did I say that this world is a dim and dreary place sometimes? Because it is, but this shouldn’t be an excuse for me to give up or to only rage without doing something to encourage change. I am only one person (and a very small person, at that.) I will not change the world, but I can act where I find myself even if my actions seem minute, go unnoticed, or mean that I will be pitied by those who should call me sister. These are not in my control, but what I do is.