…you’ve been asleep your whole life and when you try to wake up, you hear “GO BACK TO SLEEP!” ?

repentance: coming to feel about your sin how God feels about it

sin: denying something of greater value for something of lesser value

Friday we drove to Chicago. i have now learned alot about road trips.

1. always bring other people. they help pay gas.

2. always bring other people who like maps. they tell you where to go.

So Twon and Joseph and i were off. made it to japooosa…Jesus People USA, and found my retirement plan. The Friendly Towers, where they stay (www.jpusa.org) used to be low income elderly housing, but the guy ran it like a slum lord. Then the japooosa people got it, and there were all these old people…so made it a ministry. so, if not before i am 55, i shall live at japooosa. so the basic idea is living with your church. a church that has alot of very different people in it. and you can’t get away. There is people like Dave, who reviews movies professionally. His specialty is horror film. after hearing his analysis, i almost wanted to watch one. almost. or Brock, who showed us around and said he was there for a time of healing. or Patricia, who we watched “Yellow Submarine” with (only watch that movie late at night when you feel giggly. then it will be funny and entertaining) who’d been there a month. or Jedediah, who’s parents had moved there when he was little and then he grew up, got involved, met his wife, and now at 25 has two kids.

there are so many people–that you only have dish duty every five weeks. sweet. So they have different ministries and then places where they work to gain the revenue to keep up the place. When you come, you have your jobs to do to help out. Then if you need something, you go to the office and they give you the money you need to buy a pair of shoes or whatever. this place is about art. healing. music. life. finding yourself. being yourself. giving yourself.

i got to visit my cousin Jessica. she has a sweet apartment in Chicago. it is actually four miles from japooosa. i took the scenic route. and now feel rather comfortable getting around Chicago. Because most streets look rather familiar. if you ever go to Chicago, you should visit “The Boring Store” which is really a spy supply store. nice. and “Soul Veg” run by black Jews. soul food, vegetarian, vegan, and all that. i got a tofu wrap that was amazing. really. i am not joking. and saw the dunes at sunset. Since you can’t see any land from the dunes, it counts as my very own ocean. yep. amazing time. Thanks God.

i don’t like wet socks

or ice toes pushed against me

or leaving warm covers

on cold mornings

i don’t like air conditioning

or cold churches

or wasted money

making cold churches

on hot mornings

i don’t like people who make fun

when i laugh loudly

or forget to laugh

or laugh at the wrong time

i don’t like chocolate or liver

or coke because it gives me headaches

i don’t like the Golden Corral in Greenwood

because they were racist

i don’t like not saying what i feel

because i am scared

or doubting what is right

or wondering if the wrong doesn’t have a good point

i don’t like questions that don’t have answers

or problems without solutions

i don’t like waiting for good things that should happen

or hearing that bad things happened instead

i don’t like holding babies

or talking on the phone

i don’t like jokes made at other people’s expense

because if you will do it to them

then you would do it to me

i don’t like rich people

or people who are too beautiful to talk to

without my mouth dropping open

or mechanics

they intimidate me

please read “Blue Like Jazz”

it just might be what you are looking for

“I’m Still Here”

I am a question to the world,
Not an answer to be heard.
All a moment that’s held in your arms.
And what do you think you’d ever say?
I won’t listen anyway…
You don’t know me,
And I’ll never be what you want me to be.

And what do you think you’d understand?
I’m a boy, no, I’m a man..
You can take me and throw me away.
And how can you learn what’s never shown?
Yeah, you stand here on your own.
They don’t know me ’cause I’m not here.

And I want a moment to be real,
Wanna touch things I don’t feel,
Wanna hold on and feel I belong.
And how can the world want me to change,
They’re the ones that stay the same.
The don’t know me,
‘Cause I’m not here.

And you see the things they never see
All you wanted, I could be
Now you know me, and I’m not afraid
And I wanna tell you who I am
Can you help me be a man?
They can’t break me
As long as I know who I am

And I want a moment to be real,
Wanna touch things I don’t feel,
Wanna hold on and feel I belong.
And how can the world want me to change,
They’re the ones that stay the same.
They can’t see me,
But I’m still here.

They can’t tell me who to be,
‘Cause I’m not what they see.
And the world is still sleepin’,
While I keep on dreamin’ for me.
And their words are just whispers
And lies that I’ll never believe.

And I want a moment to be real,
Wanna touch things I don’t feel,
Wanna hold on and feel I belong.
And how can they say I never change
They’re the ones that stay the same.
I’m the one now,
‘Cause I’m still here.

I’m the one,
‘Cause I’m still here.
I’m still here.
I’m still here.
I’m still here.

John learned to ride his bike. as he pushed off and rode down the sidewalk without me…very symbolic. letting go.

“Where will you go?”

“America”

“America? We are in America right now, Don.”

“Yeah, i know, but there are other parts to America…i was looking at the map the other day, you know, and Texas was sort of brown with some green, a few hills, but then there were other places that were more green with big lumpy mountains. i’d like to go to those places.”

“Do you think God is out there somewhere? out there in the lumpy places?”

“i think God is everywhere.”

“Then why do you have to leave?”

“Because i can’t be here anymore. i don’t feel whole here…it feels like i should go back and get the person i am and bring him here to the person i should be…do you know what i am talking about, about the green lumpy places?”

*

“If you believe something, passionately, people will follow you. people hardly care what you believe, as long as you believe something. if you are passionate about something, people will follow you because they think you know something they don’t, some clue to the meaning of the universe. passion is tricky, though, because it cam point to nothing as easily as it points to something. “

*

“I’ve had about fifty people tell me that i fear intimacy. and it is true. i fear what people will think of me, and that is the reason i don’t date very often. people really like me alot when they only know me alittle, but i have this great fear that if they knew me alot they wouldn’t like me. that is the number one thing that scares me about having a wife is because she would have to know me pretty well in order to marry me and i think if she got to know me pretty well she wouldn’t like me anymore.”

*

ok. no way can i type this whole thing out for you…but…Don Miller (all of this is from “Blue Like Jazz” by the way) wrote this as part of a play for a couple who was heading for divorce. the guy comes in and speaks this to the woman while she is sleeping:

“What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? what great force, that though i went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that i fear, the soul that i loathe, the soul that: if you will love, i will love. i will redeem you, if you will redeem me? is this our purpose, you and i together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and i invented our of our own clay? i am not scared of you, my love, i am scared of me.

i went looking, i wrote out a list, i drew an image, i bled a poem of you. you were pretty, and my friends believed i was worthy of you. you were clever, but i was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. you see, love, i did not love you, i loved me. and you were only a tool that i used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. and though i have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, i walk alone, for i cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest i believe that i am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.

i want desperately for you to be my friend. but you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man i wanted to be, the man i pretended to be, and i was your Jesus, and, you were mine. should i show you who i am, we may crumble. i am not scared of you, my love, i am scared of me…”

*

“Don, if we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.”

“There are things you cannot understand, and you must learn to live with this. Not only must you learn to live with this, you must learn to enjoy this.” 

and other such irony.

i asked John what he wanted to be when he grew up.

J: a father. (serious sigh) i want to be a good parent.

R: who told you to say all that?

J: no one.

shall we believe him? i took John to swimming lessons. he looks so little watching him from the bleachers. every time i look at him he is wiping his nose. we need to talk about that.

back at the youth center. love it. played at the park with the little kids. they love me and think i am the fastest thing alive. my feet were so dirty that they said i was finally turning black. yesssssss. i found this in my journal from January and thought it relevant:

i am gonna miss this psycho version of what is called the ghetto. i’ll probably have weird random dreams in Brasil about driving the van “butt fulla kids” or someone getting shot (happened twice last year). maybe having the SWAT team come in because the neighbor went crazy from some bad drugs…maybe about being joaned on. i got called “Steve Nash with a hair cut” the other day. maybe i’ll dream about life and love and tears and sharing and “How are you and God?” Maybe i’ll hear about people leaving and coming and changing and growing and running away. Sometimes i won’t miss the ghetto. the expectation. the “i deserve this and more” the “give me something free” the “no, that isn’t good enough” instead of a thank you. the stuckness–”i want to do the right thing,but i just can’t. the waiting. gosh they take forever to get ready. the sick jokes. sometimes, i really don’t want to know what you are thinking. the meanness–or plain lack of kindness. it is like being nice or kind is “weak.” you are part of the group when they are mean to you. sometimes i’d rather not be part of the group. those little lines of “Everyone hates you Ms.Rachel, why don’t you go home.” replay a thousand times over. they dig my soul. they take away something soft and innocent that i value very much. the chip on their shoulder. they know what to do. they feel bad if they don’t–but don’t you dare go and point it out. Don’t you dare say they are wrong–it is always someone else’s fault. “yeah, i just picked up that girl and slammed her on the ground–but you play favorites and never did nothing when she…” and then the “so yeah, i will feel bad about this tomorrow, but i don’t know how to apologize so i never will…but for now, i will disrespect you and make you feel like the most insignificant person on the planet…”

And then there are the hugs and “Ms.Rachel, watch me” like if i am watching i give them superpowers–they can fly only if they are noticed. there are the”How was your day?” and genuine “you look like you are gonna cry–i got your back–tell me a name and i will beat them up for you.” they are so proud to be taller than me now. old kids stop by every once in awhile to show us they are alive and remember that at least one thing in their childhood was real and it is still true. it is the best of life–laughing and playing hard and not hiding–and the worst of it–pain and ugliness and protecting yourself by destroying another. i love it. i hate it.

…so maybe buying a camera off of ebay isn’t always such a great idea. but it is works. most of the time.

as seen from the trampoline…the mural and the fort.

the wave turned out good…except my dad says part of it looks like snow-capped mountains. true artists are never understood…

puppies–Rosie and Lady

So i haven’t figured out the whole “get your face in the picture when you turn it around and point it at yourself” stuff. Erica…the graffiti master. this is just the beginning…

i like old pews

and wood floors

and scratches and nicks

i like a church

where you don’t need a microphone

i like Venus

and clouds at night

and wide open spaces

with fireflies

but i think fireflies are mostly extinct because all of us kids killed them in those glass jars when we were little

i like hearing

the floor above me creak

as my Dad checks the doors

to see if they are locked before going to bed

i love listening to the piano

play magic

under my sister’s fingers

i miss her right now

i like down blankets

and men’s perfume

i think that since they made men’s perfume to attract women

i might as well save them the time and buy the men’s perfume instead

i like rain

and wind

but not if they hide the sun

for too long

i get depressed without the sun

i get stir crazy and feel caged

i like to jog

and ride my bike

it is the best way to deal with

everything that is undealable

it makes like livable

“Don’t forget what God said to you in this place–and what you said to Him.” –Pastor Tom

Last week we went to the last service in the church i grew up in. They are moving–today was their first service in their new place. i was thinking of all that happened there…when i asked Jesus into my heart, got baptized, played tag in the bathroom, ate red-hot apple sauce (i love red-hot apple sauce–that used to be the highlight of my Wednesday nights), singing a solo, trip to Kings Island, camp, the first time i told my testimony, my call to missions, going to Kentucky and Brasil…

We were singing “Let your glory fall” and i realized in this whole “church searching thing” i’d made it all about me. what is best for me. what i need. what i like. what i want. It isn’t about me. As my new obsession, “Blue Like Jazz” said, “Six billion people live in this world, and i can only muster thoughts for one. me.” It is about God. His glory filling the temple. His glory filling me.

*

I realized i was stubborn when i saw Karine’s face in the combie. I’d just commented on the stubbornness of someone else and then stated “well, i am not that stubborn.” After seeing her face i turned it into a question–”Am i?” to which i knew the answer. since when am i stubborn? i thought i was just starting to do well in flexibility and going with the flow.

*

i like this feeling

i haven’t showered yet

had a good workout

fresh strawberries for breakfast

lying on a down cover

having a million things to do

but not really having any

and so feeling free

i haven’t felt this rested about life

for awhile

*

in every generation there are a couple parents who disappear into work lives and leave their children to roam the neighborhood. in my generation it was Kellee, Kristle, and Andrew. Andrew who wore only diapers and rode a big wheel. Andrew who is married now. Then there was Rocky. Rocky, the only person who ever called me four eyes and destroyed my crush, my cockiness, and my self-esteem in one sentence. i still have problems with my glasses. Now it is Celia and Wyatt. The five year old who takes care of her three year old brother. both habitual liars. this became clear after Celia insisted she was 12. I am sitting on the couch and hear the pitter patter of little feet as Wyatt runs through the house to get to the bathroom on time. Celia is always the princess or she threatens to go home. Dad told John to just let her go home sometime and see what happens. Wyatt is always the pirate captain. no matter what game they are playing.

*

i sat in my car, having to grin at the irony. you just can’t get angry anymore–it happens everytime. we have it down to a script…i leave the country, come back and check on my girls. One girl keeps in excellent contact. no one else really keeps up like her. most of our e-mails discuss how much she misses me and what we will do when we get together and do something. so when we finally do get together, she’s sitting in the car…and spends the whole time telling me she shouldn’t have come. she shoulda partied, shoulda gone through torture…why would she want to talk to me anyways? i am so weird…i smile, we say goodbye at the end, and then i leave the country and we start the cycle again. Funny how some people say “i love you.”

*

i don’t know why Timothy always gets to me. i drove past him yesterday, walking down the street, all of eight years old with his five year old follower. Bad part of town, he left his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his manly chest, talking and laughing as if he owned the world. he swaggered too. maybe because he reminds me of my brother.  maybe because i know just a little of what he’s gonna go through growing up where he is. growing up in general. maybe because he is so innocent. maybe because i just don’t want him to be broken.

*

If i have books like “Blue Like Jazz” and a place to lay in the sun…i could be happy anywhere. i am sitting across from the amazing beautiful journals at Borders and trying to kill my sensibility and say “of course i should spend $20 on a journal.” they are sirens singing their song. maybe i should move. $20 is what i live off of a week in Brasil. $20 is a weekly minimum wage in most third world countries. all this rationality and i still want one.

*

I don’t like mechanics. Dad said one of my tires was flat so i needed to go to the tire place. i go and the man asks “which tire?” i don’t know and so said “the flat one.” he almost patted my head patronizingly. Then he saw my cellphone and said he’d call me when it was ready. too bad i don’t know the number (because i never use it). i sinkingly told him that was not necessary and he had to turn away to hide his smirk. i really don’t like mechanics. they make me feel dumb. and they like doing it.

*

“The Irresistible Revolution” made me cry and fight and struggle and burn inside. “Velvet Elvis” made me long to understand God and the Bible and dig into it and open up to more. “Blue Like Jazz” makes me want to write. inspiration. release. like that song that pops on the radio that was written for you and hit you where it hurts and where you need it.

*

i went and saw a bunch of people who are alittle crazy Friday night. some had dreadlocks down to their buttocks. some had homemade clothes. none of them cared. a group of kids danced around. a couple of grown men joined them, forgetting that they were twice as old and tall and much more noticeable. they sang about Jesus. They reminded me of David–dancing and singing with all his might before the Lord. He forgot himself in something bigger. i wondered if i was Michael, watching from a window and despising–or one of the maids that held him in respect. There was freedom there. Not so much the freedom to do what you want (although you could)–but the freedom to not have to perform. to “let down your hair”, to forget your pride and what people thought of you and what you needed to PRESENT to them. it wasn’t about me or you. it was energy, emotion, and all that God puts in us that we cannot contain. that must burst forth…and it does.

*

finished the mural. for $7 and a blister on my finger. Erica did the lettering. Spray paint is hard to control. probably why i like it and hate it at the same time.

i hate it when i can’t remember what i’ve done lately. i love it that it doesn’t really matter anyway.

This break from school and work and being so DRIVEN is amazing. what i needed. i go to bed without freaking out about what is coming the next day. i no longer count the days, minutes, hours to the weekend. i make a plan and then drop everything to take the puppies and John for a walk. life happens.