Lovin' like a Milk Man (or Maid)

(To be noted: the first paragraph of this entry isn't exactly worth reading)

It is late and I can't sleep. I have reached the sleepy cooled down state in my body, like a nap hangover. But my brain just won't be so still. In the morning I always wonder what I would write about. I often look at my journal or consider blogging, but I just can't think of anything worth saying. For some reason as soon as the sun falls below the horizon my mind often seems to wake up. Not necessarily smarts (debatable if I have any of those at all *wink*), but just thoughts. These deep analytical ponderings are where I attempt to figure out the puzzle of life, death, and Mancala. So here I am once again in that state: Partially asleep hoping I can stop the running train inside. And so I write.

Currently my mouth is numb. I have an unkind canker-sore inside my lip. It hurts, and its ache pulled me from my bed. I used the nasty medicine on it, that bright brown lava goo which you drip on. It burns at first, and then you contort your mouth in odd ways to attempt to keep the stuff from getting all over your tongue and teeth, as anything it touches it numbs. Once I drank from a cup Josh used earlier after he used this medicine. I started freaking out because my mouth was going numb and I didn't know why. Apparently it is powerful stuff, lingering on anything. This time I didn't do my typical mouth-dance to keep me from numbing up; I was just going to suck it up. And I am, numb all over. I keep licking the left side of my mouth as I am pretty sure I am drooling there, but I guess it just feels cold, the cold not being my spit. Instead I am drooling right from the center of my mouth. Very attractive. A numb mouth makes for great entertainment. If your easily self-entertained, that is.

On a deeper level, I have been laying in bed itchingly aware of my complacency. In fact, its slightly uncomfortable to acknowledge, but I think I am rather nominal. Since I pride myself as not being as such, or at least not wanting to be nominal, its kinda gross to admit it.

Yesterday I was challenged to fast from the dare I say it? From the love of my taste buds: creamy sweet coffee. I understand fasting as denying something as to prove that you are serious about something else. Hence, if one fasts from food, they are showing God that they are actually serious about what they are asking for (whether its praying for another person, an issue, or just to become closer to God). Of course, there is more to fasting than that, but that is a part of it. I don't particularly like to fast, and never have. Often I have out of guilt, mainly being I should do so because its spiritually the right thing to do for me to get what I want. Not exactly a great attitude, you see. I don't ever remember a time where I willingly enjoyed doing so (even if I have enjoyed the results). Generally when the idea of fasting comes up I try to squelch it right away. Its not that I am against it if it is actually necessary. Yet I am always trying to convince myself that it is not necessary. Do you ever do that? Try to convince yourself you can get the same results without a certain amount of effort? Maybe its just human nature, but I am pretty sure I am pretty lazy that way. Just pretty sure. There is a line somewhere between necessary and unneccesary. . . if I can just find where that line is I'll set up camp there eternally. If I do x y & z I'll will get whatever. But can I get whatever by doing just x & y? If so, heck ya, I am just going to do x & y! In this case I don't want the path less traveled. I want to path of least resistance. Which, come to think of it reminds me of some verses about the narrow path is the only one in following Jesus vs. that large road of least resistance which is safe to say does NOT lead to Jesus. Hum.

It is kinda pathetic to me that I won't willingly jump to do whatever makes God happy. I can barely even get myself to do what He asks me to do. When you are newly in-love you go out of your way to make eachother happy. When you are 'seasoned' in marriage you do what is comfortable, which generally means only doing what the other person asks for. But, oh, how much happier is the marriage for both people when you randomly (or always) are going out of your way (yes, serving selflessly) to make the other person happy?! It breathes life into the marriage! Its like vanilla ice-cream-drizzled blueberry pies and butterflies, like glorious sunshiney mornings and rainy cozy day hot-chocolate & popcorn by the fire. Its like singing birdies! Okay. Um. Sort of. Honestly, though, sometimes pulling a hammer out of your derrière is easier than to say "Thank you for doing the dishes." Why is that? Its not like its hard to say. But sometimes it requires so much gumption to barely tiptoe an inch out of your way to make the other person happy.

God seems to be a romantic. He's given flowers and sunsets and poems. Yet our relationship does not go both ways. I am still huffing and gruffing to get that sledgehammer out of my backside to make myself make Him happy, and often ignoring His requests to pick up 1% milk from the store for Him. Or whatever it is that God plainly asks of me. You know what I mean? Why do I go back and forth being like "is this really really actually necessary for my well-being, other's well-being, God's delight?" I mean, God seems to delight in me whether I am a flaking piece of crap (as long as I am acknowledging my dependence on Him) or if I am the brightest silkiest fastest-hoping bunny on the bunny trail. He likes me. But I don't seem to like Him. I always thought John 14 was kinda tough saying we only love God if we obey Him. But right now its easy for me to see its not a matter of us meeting at x y & z or we fall short; its not an emotional statement saying that doubtlessly He will reject me because I know I can't meet up to perfectly obeying, i.e., loving Him. Its pretty much a statement of fact that when you love someone you will be trying to love them. You should try to make them happy and get their milk they asked for even if its at 1 a.m. at the local only-place-open Harris Teeter so they can eat their freakin' tasty fiberous Mini Wheat's in the morning! It makes you happy to make them happy! That's why you should! Yep. Wouldn't that be nice? We don't believe in that selfless milk-maid relationships most of the time, though. Maybe when we are are starry-eyed in love. Generally the reality we choose is a reality of laziness and/or self-service which doesn't love just to love.

In the book of Revelations Jesus is talking to one of His churches saying they lost their first love. I am pretty sure I am not in love with Jesus like the 1 a.m. milk type of love. I sometimes cringe at obeying Him. I do as little as possible to get by. My spiritual life suffers because of this and the people I crave to reach out are also thus shafted. I don't want to be spiritually numb like my drooling mouth is.

I was going to write about a bunch of other stuff. I was going to talk about Avilynne and her idiosyncrasies. I was going to talk about how I wish others would challenge me and how I think I should be challenge (haha, I'd probably regret saying that later anyways). I was going to talk about how I think God wants me to teach English to my neighbor and that I am afraid of doing so, how I have a healthy fear of getting drunk and that I want to write a children's book, change the world and never leave the emotional safety of my mind although I long to go parasailing in all manners of life. I guess these topics will have to wait until the train keeps running in my mind some other sleepless night. In the meantime I will enjoy being slightly sparked with a bit'o conviction. If I can still feel it, I must be still alive. :)

Some Thoughts (Rather Serious, I Guess)

1.) What if my life purpose was just to love my husband? Beyond just loving the person you are married to as one should in part of a life, but pouring out your all for your spouse. Or child. Or the old person across the street. Generally I don't normally think people live to impact just one person. But what if in some cases they did? I guess I am just realizing that God's love is so real and full that it might just want to love someone for a lifetime (and beyond) for no other reason. So, what if my only assignment in life was to show God's love to one person? Its just a crazy thought. Even if God knows individuals might never respond to His love, or share it with others, I think I have come to the conclusion that He might just love them their whole earthly lives anyways just because He wants them to know He loves them. Just because He wants to. That is an incredible thought to me.

2.) I've been thinking a lot about dying recently for whatever reason. Maybe knowing that I am not promised time, wondering to what degree I'd be okay with dying for a purpose, like if it helped other people come to know God or that it would impact an individual enough to change them (so that in turn they would change others). How willing would I be to be "poured out" as an offering of that degree? I might say I live for Jesus. But generally, living seems harder than dying (as that seems to take no effort whatsoever if the circumstances demand as such). Yet I think I would much rather live than die, or at least not just die for no reason. Like the typical dying just to die cause we all die someday.

3.) I really like my daughter. I am not too sure what bonds one to their kid, but something has gone on there, in between us at least. My theory is that when you have to love someone by your actions, you end up feeling the love for them. I didn't particularly "feel" love for Avi when she was born. I was not one of those moms who bond in a second. But something within the last year has totally bonded us. I feel sorry for mothers all around. After all, they have these kids who grow up, and the kid loves them as a parent, but the love will never be to the same extent back. Yet in spite of knowing that someday Avilynne might not like me, depending, I can't help but feel a certain sort of emotion for her. Its just shy of an addiction, as it lacks that "high" drive. Yet it is deep an rooted like that funky huge weed near my door, yet it is a beautiful and real plant. Anyways, I'm sure I'll share more thoughts about motherhood later; just to say I am amazed how much I love my child. These little people are amazing, and I am so privileged to "own" one, entrusted as I am.

Colour Light

Colour Light
July 16th 2008

If I had to paint your heart,
What colour would it be?
Red or gold or molten,
Or honey-bee sweet in marigolds?

If I had to hold your hand,
What pictures would that paint?
Slow streams of bluish liquid,
Or quickity-splashes of daydreams?

When I see your mind,
What feelings will I feel?
Will I feel my favorite colours?
Will I feel my heart be faint?

Tingles up and down my spine
Roses light I wish to find
On that bed of water, dear
There they are when you swim near!

I sing
sing
sing
that you were near

I sing
sing
sing
that you still are:

And when I think
That all is lost
I'll sing of the colours you have made.

Tribute to Grandma Skies and Living Jesus

Yuck, sometimes I feel so grossed by my non-love. I am such a selfish person. I don't think I act like a child of the Father. I don't think I show love. I just read 1 John 3, and go figure, it was immensely convicting. How often do I "live in Him?" There is verse after verse about how when you become God's child you will stop sinning. Considering I am a bit too professional at being selfish, automatically I start wondering how I am God's child. Its kinda like a kid realizing for the first time they don't look like their parents or anyone else in the family . . . I guess I'm adopted.

Yesterday at my Grandma's memorial service the pastor was talking about how Grandma was not her normal self at the end of her life. She was focused on getting her orange sherbet, RC Cola, and that "Fat Free Skim Milk" was a redundant title. She became more determined, impatience, self-focused, hard in understanding logic, and even her personality changed to a degree. This impart was due to her strokes, losing brain-matter. I also think people automatically revert into self-focused behavior when their physical body seems threatened. Its like a survival mode that humans seem to switch into when they are hurt, sick, tired, pmsed, and other abnormal states of being. They might be themselves, but not always their most pleasant, life-giving selves. The pastor was saying he became frustrated with Grandma as she wasn't getting his logic. Then the idea came to him to appeal to her "spirit," the child of God, the person who has become "fixed," forgiven, and alive in God. So he sang a song with her about focusing on God. Go figure, she changed, she became peaceful and God focused.

I guess that kinda stood out to me. We are in this constant battle inside ourselves that Paul describes, doing what we don't want to do and not able to do what we hope to do. We have a part of us that is so human in a physical body that is dying. But God said He has changed our spirit, overlooking, and wiping away our selfish nature so we can become like Him.

Another thing the pastor said at my Grandma's memorial service was that my her life was about Jesus. In honesty, sometimes I was pretty unsatisfied with my interaction with my Grandma. She was so proud of her family, though in a good way. She would often brag about me to my cousins and brag about my cousins to me. I had the feeling that she never cared more than just to find more information to be proud of. I guess you could say I didn't have the personal relationship I wish I had with her. Yet in retrospect, that was undoubtedly outweighed by the things about her that were just amazing. There are plenty of things I remember about her: making us cousins matching clothing, babysitting us (and saving my life), camping, public display of personal, um, stuff, walking in the rain, and singing "Tell Me Why." But what really stands out to me was her faith. If no one else in the world had faith, she still did. She started churches. Started and lead Bible studies. She actually would pray for people, intensely, regularly. She watched the world news to pray for current events. She loved to worship God; to sing about Him and tell about how awesome He is to others. Her conversations, letters, and thoughts would always shortly lead back to being about Jesus. She lived for Him. Energy or no energy, able to do things or not, she continually maintained a relationship with Jesus and followed Him. I'm sure she struggled in life, I know she made unwise decisions that hurt herself and others in her life time. She wasn't perfect. But her life was about Jesus. Whether religious or anti-religious, it is impossible to deny that her life was entwined in her belief about her personal Lord.

On that note, of course, I was wondering what people would say about me if I died now. I think I might have an idea about what my family would say, or my friends in CA or other places around the globe. But I wonder what people would say among those who live where I do now, in the D.C. area. Yes, people would know I was a Christian. But would they really say my life was about Jesus? That I was fully alive? I've been thinking a lot about what my life back home looks like and in some ways I think it is very trite. Valuable, fun, and often meaningful. But too often it is satisfied with something less than I believe my life should contain. For once I am not saying this because I am not content. I am saying this because I am where I should be (location) but I don't live like I should. I don't live wrong, I just don't live to the fullest. By the fullest I am not referring to "doing" more either. But really investing in my relationship with Jesus and my relationships with others. No wonder so often I am not content. I often let spiritual laziness and selfishness rule while I live a 'wonderful' American life. Even though I am a Christian and try to follow Jesus, I let the dead part of me live a little too much. After meditating on my Grandma's life I am convinced I want her legacy to live on: I want to live Jesus.

Mailbox Madness

Often I find myself trying to distinguish why I felt so fully alive at different times of my life. For example, I realize that though I often felt alive in YWAM, it wasn't necessarily "YWAM" that made me feel that way. There were various aspects of the scenario which made me alive.

Today I was reading one of the last chapters in the book "I Became a Christian and All I Got was a Lousy T-Shirt." This chapter is kinda some dude's understanding of how being a Jesus-following-secret-agent man makes you alive (versus sitting on the couch all time time being a lazy bum makes you pretty bored or busy). Sort of.

Anyways, I know pretty often I am a bored Christian, or unsatisfied at least. It seems to hard to touch sick people where I live even though we are all pretty sick. Yet today, I had an idea. Whether it was a God directed idea or not, I am not sure. But I did it anyway. I felt devious, excited, counter-cultural as well as even semi-radical with my very unradical attempt at loving someone and living on a mission.

All to say, I wrote a thank you card to a postal worker. It was somewhat awkward. After all, I've never actually written a thank-you card to the UPS before. In fact, for a distinct period of time I was pretty sure that the United States Postal Service was actually an underground anti-government group, fully of anarchy and deceptive plans to establish a secure stronghold in each location to quickly convert into a mad rebellion and overthrow the US in a coup. Now I don't believe that. I am pretty sure Northrop Grumman is an anarchy instead.

At the end of the card I was running out of space, as is usually the case when , I, Elisa, write a card. I was trying to debate if I should write a Bible verse or tell them Jesus loves them or something Christian-classic like that. I was pretty sure I shouldn't write "God Bless you" because the chapter I read, in essence, said not to do that. I finally decided on saying something like I hoped they would find a life that was fully alive (mostly because I ran out of space to go deeper than that).

The nervous sweat from my hands caused my washable kids marker to bleed, leaving blue finger prints on the card. I was rather disturbed by that, as I was leaving the card anonymously and didn't want to be caught. They probably have my fingerprints on file somewhere and can match them. After all, I have had numerous background checks in which maybe they stole my fingerprints. I don't rightly remember. To solve the problem I smudged the marks with my spit. Which, after, I decided that might not have been a good idea just in case they can somehow DNA test the card and, again, find me. I am pretty sure it was a good idea to not stick the card in an envelope as they might never open it in fear of the anthrax virus powder which I wouldn't bother to add to the envelope.

With those precautions made, I am pretty sure that maybe someone will read it. Maybe not the letter-collector. But maybe the mail-sorting guy. I hope it makes someone's day. And I really hope that maybe it won't make them think humanity is slightly nicer than they thought, but somehow God will work to help them connect the "fully alive" part with Him.

Whether that was an impactful thing or not, it helped me (at least) feel alive. I decided that one of the aspects in my past of when I felt so alive was that I used to scheme and plan to love others. I think that is a characteristic I need to add more of to my life. After all, It blesses God, others, and myself.

Recipe for Contentment

"Yet true religion with contentment is great wealth." 1Tim6:6

I must say, I love this. Not only does it have a nice ring to it, but it also alludes a plethora of wisdom from a father to his son. If it wouldn't look so awkward framed by my front door, I just might put it there. Especially as it seems that being discontent is more than a struggle with me, it even borders on being a vice. Which is a rather unbecoming vice, at that. I like to blame my discontentedness that often controls me on living in Northern Virginia as opposed to in Asia, Europe, or California for that matter. Yet my true colors show and I suspect I would be discontent anywhere. That might not be entirely true, maybe I would be more content doing something else in a different environment. I am sure, though, that this thorn is a matter of the heart and not the location.

"Pure and lasting religion in the sight of God our Father means that we must care for orphans and widows in their troubles, and refuse to let the world corrupt us." James1:27

Here is another beloved quote that I believe the former must be read in tandem with. I can rant and rave about what religion looks like today, and whether it should or not. But beyond what is in front of me is my own soul for this to be tattooed on. I love this. It is such a different view, something that makes me crave religion if this is what pure religion really is. I have the feeling that my activist friends might say the same.

The reason I wonder whether I would be content somewhere else really comes down to if I am always craving new environments or if I really believe I could practice true/pure religion within a different environment better (and therefore I'd be content). Deep in my mind, I suspect, there is some truth to both of these, and some falsehood too. If the recipe for contentment is Jesus' "Life to the Fullest" (which it surely must be), what exactly is the recipe for that? Pure religion?

Los Lokales adonde fui

Not too long ago I used to travel. Honestly, I didn't really travel that much. Maybe I did "a lot" of traveling for my age. But 7% of the countries of the world are really not that many. At 18 I created the goal to travel to each continent (excluding Antarctica) within 10 years. That means I have just shy of 4 more years to reach Africa and South America, though I'd kinda like to visit Central America and the Middle East also. In someways I would really prefer to just explore South and South East Asia. Yet when I see a spectacular sunset I always think of African grassy plains and medical clinics with beautiful people speaking beautiful languages I do not understand. For whatever morbid reason, I wish I could visit Rwanda to see where the genocide took place, and talk with survivors. I wish I could visit a refugee camp in Chad and bring food, or find immigrants in Cairo who are stateless, hear their stories and help them format them so they can go confidently to their interviews knowing they will be believed. Or it seems amazingly cool to me climb to Matchu Pitchu and see Mayan temples. To go to the slums of Lima or visit a Beef farm in Argentina and speak Spanish with a "sho soy elisa." So I guess my two continents actually do await me.

Why do I love to travel? I have no clue. This is a nonsensical fetish, it seems. I guess I figured it is some oddity that God has programed into me, I generally assume for His purposes. Even though I do somewhat believe it can be "for God" my motives in many ways are driven by just this insane thrill-seeking adventure hormone (or something) which must be released by my liver every month, week, day. Or at least, that is a theory. Maybe it really is just genetics. After all, I am the daughter of my father who would hide travel magazines under His bed like other men might hide porn. Hormones, genetics, or God-ordained . . . I may not be able to pin-point the root. But the root is there. Even if I try to pull it out, ask God to dissolve it with Holy Spirit weed killer or ignore it, wondering if it will disappear, I am beginning to believe it might not. Hence, I was chronically bitten by a travel bug. I rest in my fate.