Twenty Four (And The Wonders Of Craigslist)

Sorry this picture is so obvious. I was purposely trying to avoid anything related to this insanely popular television show, but Kiefer Sutherland is too manly to be ignored. I'll take comfort in the fact that I didn't used the show's logo. Honestly, I love Kiefer, but I'm not a huge fan of 24.


Now, on to Craigslist and my complete happiness with it!

For the past few weeks, every night I've gone home with the intention of posting ads for several items that I wanted to sell. Last night, I finally got around to it and just over 12 hours later, I've already sold all four items at my original asking price. Two of the four items are being picked up tonight and tomorrow. Hopefully, the girl who asked me to hold the bed will not flake out, though I have confidence that if she does, I will be able to repost it and Craig will help me sell it quickly. Yay for online resources!

In other moving news, Emily's new roommate is coming over to measure tomorrow night. My room is a disaster. Really, I have picture proof. I managed to make it slightly less disorganized before I went to bed last night (after all, I needed someplace to sleep), but it's still a strange mishmash of boxes and bedding and knick-knacks and books and dirty laundry. I am encouraged, though...the simplifying process is coming along nicely. Getting everything in one carload shouldn't be a major problem.

Men, Please!

Paul Mayers is guest blogging over at Jason Clark's website while Jason is on vacation. He put up this post today about the imbalance of the male/female ratio in the Church at large.

My reaction is somewhat along the lines of Helen's (one of the commentors). Paul's summary of Murrow's "10 things men fear about church," from the book Why Men Hate Going to Church, is intriguing enough that I'm interested in reading the book.

Some questions (real questions, not rhetorical): Do men really value excellence more than women? Are women more willing to "check their brains at the door" than men are? If many churches teach against homosexuality, what creates the fear that churches will foster homosexuality or effeminacy in male children? Why do we care what people (male or female) wear to church? How could we go about making the pastorate less of an "alpha male" position? And, as and aside, why don't men like to sing?

I find that at least three of the items on the list apply to me, a woman. The number would increase to four if the reason men are uncomfortable with singing in church has to do with the squishiness of much Christian worship music rather than anxiety over their level of talent. I wonder if many of the items on the list aren't more based on personality and culture, rather than gender. Of course, I have often been accused (?) of thinking/acting like a man in certain areas of my life, so maybe I am an anomaly.

I would love to hear other people's thoughts on this issue. Anyone have any practical ideas for dealing with this list in a congregational setting?

Twenty Five

Only 25 more days? That doesn't seem like a lot of time. There's still so much to get done. Packing, selling, more packing, cleaning. Fortunately, the countdown actually ends two days before I move, as it's a countdown to the last day I work rather than to my last day in D.C. I will be antsy the entire weekend before I leave, but I'm sure I'll need the extra time.

The next project I must undertake is a list of companies I need to call in order to change my mailing address. OY!


No absolutely fabulous pictures for "25," so I'm doing the best I can with what I found. If you have any interest in the art of Robert Indiana, click here.

Better Things To Do

I know, I know, no countdown yesterday. My friend, Sarah, and I were celebrating her birthday together. It was actually on July 26th (ha! 26 more days before Princeton!), but I couldn't make it to Maryland until this weekend. Anyway, even though I hate the heat here, I'm a bit of a Virginia snob.

We went shopping, out to lunch, and sailing with some of Sarah's friends. For your viewing enjoyment, I have posted some photos on Flickr from our afternoon trip. Just click my picture of the sunset skyline to see a slideshow.


After weeks of heat that made me want to hide in my air-conditioned house, it was wonderful to get outside on such a gorgeous day. We enjoyed ourselves and then went back to Sarah's house so I could show her the wonders of her new iPod. Sometimes it's nice to have friends who know less about technology than I do. ;)

This morning, we went to Sarah's church and sang along with the 1980's cover ba... I mean, worship team. I got the chance to meet some more of Sarah's friends. Every time she introduced me, she mentioned that I was headed to seminary. It's nice to have friends who are supportive.

Living close to Sarah is definitely something I am going to miss when I move to NJ, but she's promised to visit. Anyway, she has all my CDs and has to return them some time, so at least one visit is assured.

Harvard, What's With All The Faulkner?

Recently, at the suggestion of a college pal, I joined a LiveJournal community, called readplease. Mainly I skim the book titles that people mention to see if anything sticks out to me. I heart reading, so I was excited to see that someone posted a top 100 books of the 20th century list. Apparently, this was compiled by Harvard. My only real question is: Why so much Faulkner that I will never ever ever read after my recent encounter with his writing.

Here's the list. I've read 23 of the ones listed. And some other lists from Random House. Like my roommate, I generally enjoy a good list.

The Best Woman I Know

My mother and I were talking on the phone this morning. At the same time, I was skimming through Newsgator, trying to decide which posts not to read, and I realized that I had never blogged about her. Delinquent Dad got a whole post, but Marvelous Mother was completely neglected.

Unlike many of my friends, my relationship with my mother was markedly un-rocky. I was a good kid essentially because the effort to be rebellious seemed like a waste of time to this bookworm. We had our first, and perhaps only, "argument" over the phone when I was a freshman at Houghton. When I got off the phone almost crying and described the conversation to my roommates, who had heard my end of the call, they informed me that I was an amateur in the violent art of mother-daughter fighting. Marvelous Mother and I have always been like two peas in a pod and I thank God for that.

When I started preparing for me imminent return to school, my mom asked if there was anything she could buy for me. Normal mom stuff, right? Sure it is, if your parents are living the middle to upper-middle class existence of most of my peers' parents, but I make substantially more money than MM does. Part of the gap is a result of the vast difference between living expenses in NOVA/DC and Northern New York, but even considering that, I probably make twice as much as my lovely, hardworking mother. Let's be clear, this is in no way a point of pride for me. It makes me sad enough to cry sometimes. My mother has worked hard for 35 years or so, but difficult circumstances, that were mostly out of her control, have made her options fewer than she deserves.

So, despite the obvious disparity in our salaries, she insisted on a list. Over the past few months, MM has been diligently searching for deals and coupons, buying the toiletries and food items I specified. Sometimes I feel guilty because I could afford to buy my own shampoo and oatmeal, but I've learned over the years that this is how my mother shows her love. She doesn't give extravagantly expensive gifts, but she gives what she can, sometimes more. She finds out what you need and does her best to provide.

She loves to feed people. If she doesn't have anything else to give, she still has her smile. She makes people feel welcome. This dear, wonderful, cute, lovely, marvelous woman, whom I have the privilege of calling my mother, loves giving gifts so much that, while I still lived at home, she would often produce some thing I wanted or needed and say, "This was supposed to be for your birthday/Christmas, but I just couldn't wait." Even before she called herself a Christian (5 years now), she would have walked the extra mile or given a stranger the shirt off her back.

There are so many other things that I love about my mother (She gives great hugs. She taught me how to sew. She always returns my call. She was willing to touch the raw chicken when I wouldn't. She washed the dishes I forgot to rinse.), but her capacity to give is the quality I admire most. She loves others more than she loves herself and I hope, one day, to be one-tenth of the woman she is.

Twenty Eight

I love this movie.
I will be taking my copy with me when I move to seminary in 28 days!!!

Twenty Nine (A Day Late...)

I forgot to post this picture yesterday, but I went to the trouble of getting the artist's permission, so I'm just going to post it today instead.

The photographer's name is Mark Schretlen. He has some stuff online here. He's from Canada! Are there Amish people in Canada?! ;)


My room is currently crowded with boxes and other junk that I brought down from the attic. I'm going to post some stuff on Craigslist tonight and hope against hope that someone buys my bed, at least.

I'm getting rid of six or eight boxes of books (yes, I find that just a little heartbreaking), but I'm not exactly sure where to take them. Goodwill is the easiest option, but doesn't seem like the best one. I also have three or four large shopping bags of clothes and shoes that are in good condition that need to go, but I would rather donate them to a place that is going to give the clothes away to those who are actually in need rather than a place that is going to sell them to suburban teenagers with nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. Anyone in NOVA know of places I could take books and clothes?

75 Degrees

Today, it is rainy and 75. Thank God! Feels downright chilly. I love it. Makes me want to go home and put on a hoody and jeans (even though it's not really cool enough for that).

I HEART COLD WEATHER! Through all the hot summer days, I remind myself that soon it will be autumn and cool enough to don long sleeves once again.

Perhaps, once I'm finished with seminary, I will actually move to a place that doesn't have hellish summers that make me want to die. My dreams are simple.

SYTYCD Performance Finale


A moment of silence please...my favorite show of the summer, So You Think You Can Dance?, comes to a conclusion in less than a week.

Last nights' episode was fun, though there was serious confusion in my apartment when the judges slammed Benji and Donyelle's soaring, beautiful Vienese Waltz immediatly after having drooled over the lackluster disco number that Heidi and Travis slogged through. To quote MKH out of context, "We gotta back this crazy train up!"

For me, the highlight of the evening was definitely "Tranji." Silly, yes. Entertaining, absolutely!

Who would I vote for if I did such a thing? :) Well, I'm a huge fan of Benji. Heidi's dancing is hot, but she seems a little too perky. Travis is good, too, but all I ever remember of his dancing is that crazy spin he does for every single solo performance. Donyelle used to have my heart, but she's lost her sparkle in the last few weeks. I wonder what happened to make her seem so sad. So, I'm for Benji, the skinny, geeky, utterly talented Mormon!

The lowlight of the show was when Mary made a dog shape with her hand, screamed at the hand and, finally, proceeded to make her hand scream. Too! much! screaming!

I can't believe we have to wait a whole week to find out who won!

In related news, I have wanted to see the movie Step Up since the first time I saw a preview for it. Sure, it's probably crappy, but dancing is such a happy thing!

Thirty: The Official Countdown Post

Only one more month, folks!
Here's a lovely photocollage, called Thirty Circles, by Lisa Sullivan.
Check her out!

First Attempt At A Book Review: How Not To Speak Of God

About three weeks ago, I participated in a contest over at Adam Walker Cleaveland's blog, pomomusings . My prize for being one of the first five people to answer Adam's question correctly was a copy of Peter Rollins book, How (Not) To Speak Of God . I hope nobody minds, but I will be referring to the author as Pete for the rest of the post, Mr. Rollins just seems too formal.


I've always been a reader. Before I started riding the bus, and could safely sit and read on the way to school, I would walk and read instead. During the twenty-one years I've had my nose stuck in a book, very few have left me feeling like I've wasted my time. Generally, I just enjoy a book for what it is and move on. However, Pete Rollins' book left a deep impression and that impression was entirely positive. (Pulled that one out like Mary Murphy...HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!! Don't get it, watch So You Think You Can Dance?).

To begin, a little personal history - My first official encounter with "emergent" thought was less than a year ago when a friend loaned me Brian McLaren's book, A Generous Orthodoxy. I had often felt the tensions inherent within Christian thought, but had never been able to communicate my feelings as coherently as Brian did, gracefully merging seemingly opposing ideas. Next, the same friend loaned me Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz , which I finished reading in less than two days and have purchased for several friends since; another refreshing swig of emergent causing me to long for a new way of believing and acting like a Christian. Since then, I've been reading lots of Jesus-y blogs (see blogroll at left) and struggling through some of the (non)issues that have made it difficult for me to abandon my sometimes idolatrous ideas about God. That's where I am now: journeying, struggling, tearing apart in order to build anew.

Now, let's get down to brass tacks, the book I came here to review. Pete's first section, dedicated to “theory,” consists of a mere seventy-one pages, all of which are well-thought out and well-written. The second half of the book has ten five or six-page descriptions of services that Ikon, a postmodern “congregation” in Northern Ireland, put together. This section allows the reader, who may be entirely uncomfortable with emergent thought and practice, to “observe” these services from a “safe” distance. I, for one, would be thrilled to observe from a place of less safety. Pete’s description of their service entitled “Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani,” was especially intriguing, posing the question: “Would I still be a Christian if I thought that the Easter story ended on Good Friday?”

As for the first section, instead of diving into the book and overwhelming you with an even longer post than this is already going to be, I will point out three things that really hit me (in the head. like a baseball bat.).

Strike #1: Pete discusses intellectual/ideological idolatry, in which our ideas about God become the God we worship. It is essential to know that in naming God we are really naming our understanding of God, an understanding that is profoundly affected by our context. “Yet this does not mean that our definitions of God are somehow unimportant…it is only that we must recognize the extent to which these reflections fall short of that which we attempt to define and always reflect something of the one who makes the claim.” (18) I know I’ve been in more than one heated argument about theology that went nowhere because the parties involved (invluding me) were unwilling to acknowledge the fact that they might be wrong. I no longer want to hold my ideas/beliefs in such a way that they prevent me from loving people rightly.

Pete also (re)defines theology as the place where God speaks, rather than theology as a definition of God. This particular idea strikes me as revolutionary because of my immersion in various Christian traditions which never openly state that God is currently silent, but more often than not, live as if that is the case. In the past, I have found comfort in the idea that God’s revelation was completed within a hundred years of Christ's crucifixion, but there are so many important issues that the Bible doesn’t address and God spoke for such an extended period of time prior to Jesus' death, that I am beginning to find a world in which God is giving us the silent treatment increasingly difficult to accept. The thousand or so pages of writing we Christians call Scripture are surely just a pinch of sand from a miles long beach. “If theology comes to be understood as the place where God speak, then we must seek, not to speak of God, but rather to be that place where God speaks.” (21)

Next, Pete introduced me to the concept of hypernymity. I think this might be a word he made up himself. If so, good on ya, Pete! “While anonymity offers too little information for our imagination to grasp (…), hypernymity gives us far too much information. Instead of being limited by the poverty of absence we are short-circuited by the excess of presence.” (24) Most Christians I know acknowledge that God is too big to understand, but this way of thinking about that bigness is entirely new to me. Rather than envisioning a God who is too far away to be seen clearly, I'm now in the presense of One who is closely surrounding us, penetrating our very being. This makes us like a person sitting three inches away from the screen at a movie theater and trying to figure out the whole picture from the tiny, distorted portion one can see… We lack perspective and capacity, not information.

Believe me, these three were only the tip of the iceberg as far as thought-provoking tidbits go.

I will conclude with one of my favorite quotes from the book: “In a world where people believe they are not hungry, we must not offer food but rather an aroma that helps them desire the food we cannot provide.” (37)

Go now! I’m not kidding…read it!

P.S. Have some links to other people who have already read and reviewed this amazing book: Darren over at Planet Telex, Jonny Baker, Existential Punk, Scot McKnight at Jesus Creed, and, of course, my benefactor, Adam Walker Cleaveland at pomomusings. If anyone finds some female bloggers who have given their perspective, let me know.

Thirty Days (That's One Month, People!)

I called PTS again today. Apparently, making the decision whether to let one desperate girl into the dorms takes a lot more work than I expected. Since I'd called on Friday, Rosemary (the lady on the phone) had spoken to Stephen (the director of housing) who had spoken to the dean of students. Yes, the dean of students was involved in this decision.

A little persistence paid off, though. Rosemary called me back less than an hour after we got off the phone, just as I was leaving for lunch, to tell me that I will be allowed to move into my room on September 11. Somewhat ironic that such a happy event should occur on such a sad day. I've already alerted one of my pals at Princeton University that he should prepare himself to lug boxes to my third floor room. He hasn't responded to my demands. :) Perhaps I will need to call in reinforcements. Much thanks to anyone who prayed over this situation (or anyone who might have paid off school officials...).

As for the countdown photo...I need to wait for permission from the artist. She's in Britain, so I'm going to give it until 6 p.m. or so. If she hasn't responded by 2 a.m. her time, I guess I'll need to choose another picture.

My Place In This World

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm currently reading Animal Dreams, by Barbara Kingsolver. Today, as I was walking home from the Metro, with my nose in this wonderful book, I was so affected by the story that I began to tear up.

Barbara's main character, Cosima, is someone I can really identify with (except for the fact that she's trained as a doctor and looks like a supermodel :). She wants nothing more than to belong somewhere, to someone, but she hasn't been able to find that place. At some points, it seems that she won't allow herself to find her place, preferring to remain in her bizarre "comfort zone" of being the outsider, the bad daughter, the amnesiac who forgets names and faces as quickly as she hears them.

I know how she feels. The one thing I've always wanted in my life is to feel like I fit somehwere, like I was so integral to the landscape that everyone would notice if I was absent, but, at the same time, I'm comfortable with my role as the aloof one. There have been times, mostly in college, that I sensed I was in exactly the place I was meant to be, but pretty frequently, I felt like the expendable character in a TV series. You know, the character who has no name, will be the first to die, and will not be missed by any of the main characters. (I doubt this feeling is justified, but it's there nonetheless.)

Anyway, Cosima goes back to her "hometown" for a year and becomes involved with a man she dated briefly in high school, Loyd. He is a Native American. She goes home with Loyd for Christmas and can't help but notice how snugly he fits into his landscape. They go to a dance on Christmas day. As the dance unfolds before them, they have a discussion about religion and prayer. The content of the conversation was certainly interesting, but I was more affected by the ritual of the dance, the closeness of the families and the amazing perspective that Loyd possessed because he was an important, albeit small, part of something bigger than himself; his family, their community, a heritage.

The hope of becoming a part of something bigger than myself was what attracted me to the church, to Christ. The promise of a community and unconditional acceptance into the heart of God was pretty much irresistable. Occasionally, during worship, I am overwhelmed by a sense of belonging and I can barely continue singing. Hopefully, one day, I will have found/created a space where that feeling of belonging, of being part of something bigger will be less an occasion and more a way of life.

Thirty One

I couldn't have found a move perfect countdown picture for today if I tried.

From Wikipedia: "William Duckworth is credited as composer of the first postminimal piece of music... He composed Thirty One Days (1987) for alto saxophone..."

"Postminimalism is a term utilised in various artistic fields for work which is influenced by, or attempts to develop, the aesthetic of minimalism."

One of my favorite modern artists, Eva Hesse, was a postminimalist and I didn't even know it.

On the packing, moving, becoming a seminary student front: I haven't heard back from the housing office about whether I can move in early. My first call was Friday, I am going to procrastinate one more day and call them back tomorrow to see if they've made any decisions. I haven't done any significant packing since last week, but have definite plans to finish unloading my bookselves tonight. I also need to take some picture of my bed and bookshelves for posting on Craigslist. It would be really nice to make some money on the larger items I need to rid myself of, especially since my larger items are less than two years old and in "good as new" condition.

Set Low Standards, You'll Rarely Be Disappointed

Sunday's Child wrote a post today that struck a chord in the deepest part of my being. The refrain was: "Because I have been disappointed and have unconsciously decided it is easier to expect less than to continue to be disappointed."

I'm sure any number of people can empathize with this p.o.v. Disappointment hurts and sometimes it seems like a terrific idea to shelter ourselves from the pain by expecting nothing, trusting noone to take responsibility, to keep promises. Through far too much experience, I've discovered that this approach leaves me with nothing but the pain of loneliness and bitterness and stress from trying to do everything myself.

The construction of Sunday Child's post and the repetition of the line quoted above, led me to think of Psalm 136. Sometimes when I can't stop the looping feed of negative thoughts in my head, it helps to replace them with a new refrain. What better refrain is there than that God's "steadfast love endures forever"?

My Ridiculous Office

Most of my afternoon at work was spent reading Animal Dreams, by Barbara Kingsolver, and listening to some tunes on my iPod. Suddenly, with my keen peripheral vision, I saw a hand to my right. I turned to see if I was needed. It turned out that Ken (one of the attorneys for whom I work) just needed a Post-It note and my desk was conveniently located.

Funny part of the story: It was 3:30, I was clearly not doing any work, and my boss was trying not to DISTURB MY READING!!!

My job is so fulfilling.

Thirty Two



In 32 days, I will be a real student at a real seminary.

Thirty Three

I forgot to count down yesterday because we were celebrating my roommate's birthday.

Apparently, this is Christ at 33...man, how did this artist manage such an accurate representation of WASPy Jesus?

Thirty three more days before I take my cynicism on the road.

Happy Birthday, Emily!

My roommate turns twenty five today. Since dinner on Saturday, we've been enjoying birthday festivities. Friday night, Emily let me choose the place and Emily, Mary Katharine, Adam, and I went to Faccia Luna to satisfy my two week craving for pizza. By the way, if you live in NOVA, I would highly recommend this place. Excellent pizza for cheap (by NOVA/DC standards)! We all had pizza, they all had beer and Adam managed to hit some random girl with a rubberband. Why he was trying to fit a tiny rubber band around two take-out boxes, I may never know.

Further festivities were emarked upon when Emily and I went to Ann Taylor Loft. (Acually, the festivities really began when I PUT ON MASCARA,* but this post isn't supposed to be about me.) Emily bought the top you see in the picture above and a pair of jeans and some pink flip flops. After Emily had purchased her new clothing I dragged her upstairs to Hudson Trail Outfitters and I got a pink Nalgene and a pink Splashguard for the pink Nalgene (to celebrate Emily's birthday, of course :).

Shopping completed, we went to get Emily's car at the shop. Not officially part of the festivities, but there was a really cute mechanic there who was nice to look at AND Emily had at least one short, rotund, Latino admirer, named Felipe, at that shop, so it was fun.

We then made our way home to be joined by Mary Katharine, who met up with us for a night on the town. Or, more accurately, an early evening on the town. Our first stop was Potomac Yards Regal Cinema to see Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. The movie was hilariously funny...another recommended activity for anyone who can handle a little irreverence.

After the movie, we went to Bangkok 54, the best Thai restaurant in our area. At least, that's what I think and it was Emily's first choice for birthday dinner, so it must be true. We ordered drinks, then I presented Emily with her gift. I almost think that I was looking forward to the gift-giving more than Emily was looking forward to the receiving. All that changed when the long-awaited gift was opened and a talking Ronald Reagan doll from Toypresidents, which I found at a store in Baltimore, emerged. As you can tell from the beatific look on Emily's face, she was well-pleased. Every few minutes one of us would press Ronnie's lapel to hear one of his 25 quotable quotes. My personal favorite is "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" MKH got Em a gift card for DSW, money for shoes, always a timely gift. She also proved, once again, that she's NOT hideously unattractive.

From what I've seen, Emily's twenty-fifth year has been a good one. In about a week, she starts a new job. (She got about five thousand offers in the past two months, everyone loves her!) In a little over a month, 33 days to be exact, she will have a new roommate (though Alyssa will have a difficult time filling my shoes, she's a nice girl). Hopefully, Emily's 26th year will be just as eventful as her 25th has been, if not a little less stressful. I'm going to miss her constant requests that I do a dance, her strange dinners (consisting mainly of pita, hummus, ham, and Wheat Thins), and her excellent taste in movies...

Happy birthday, roommate!

* You may be asking yourself why my eyebrows are so "unruly." And why, with such unruly brows, I would ever consider posting a close up of my eyes. Well, my lashes are fantastic and plucking hurts me. If you have any helpful hints about avoiding this pain, feel free to comment.