word

"See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages forwards
More words than I had ever heard and I feel so alive" Jason Mraz

"Words are alive; cut them and they bleed." Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Without knowing the force of words, it is impossible to know men." Confucius

"Words differently arranged have a different meaning and meanings differently arranged have a different effect." Blaise Pascal

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me...



My undergraduate degree is in Communication Sciences and Disorders. There were only 2classes in my current field of audiology- most of the classes taken in speech pathology. And to learn how something is disordered or abnormal, one has to learn what normal looks like. So I learned in classes all about speech development. I learned a lot about langauge. Morphemes. Phonemes. Words. Language. Semantics. Pragmatics. Sitting in one of the downstairs lecture rooms our department shared with the student athletes, I can recall a specific lecture talking about words. Specifically I remember talking about our favorite words. And learning that I am fascinated by them. It explains why I love reading. Why I'm better in english than math. In groups, we had conversations about what our favorite words were and the ones we liked simply for how they sounded. Since my sophmore year in college, I have added to my list of words I love. There was a movie awhile back in which one of the characters had a whole journal full of words he loved. I've always meant to start my list and keep track. But for now it's just a mental exercise. Some of the ones that are at the top--coagulate, friggot, marshmellow, cheechoo (quite a few hockey names get placed in my mental tally), Chechnya. And a few new ones I've added--fruition, fortitude, deke, nifty, demonstrative. It doesn't matter what they mean. Just that I can entertain myself just by saying them.

Sunday I was standing in Starbucks and noticed the words being used to describe their coffee. "Bold and Adventurous." "Friendly." "Comforting.". It's coffee. And it's advertising. But it started a process of thoughts regarding the power of words. No new concept. Just a tie in to somethings that I've pondered about in the past. The power of words. How they can convey so much, either written or spoken. The context the words are spoken, tone, connnotations of words. As well as who speaks or write the words and those who recieve and interpret the words. That night while talking with friends about a passage of John in the Bible, I looked down to see the words were in red. Again no suprise to me as I've seen this before. But some new connections happened with this highlighting of Jesus' words. And these words changed in my understanding of them, simply by who spoke the words. And who recorded those words, where they fell in the context of the story that was being told. And how those same words have been used by others in so many various ways. Including being referenced on a sign at sporting events, or on protestors signs in front of events or abortion clinics. From the right person, right movitation, and right context, those words are freeing, loving and profound. And yet so many times those words have been used to express judgement and hate.

My senior year in college I took a Women in Christian History class for one of my upperclass electives. For the first lecture,Dr. Beck placed up about 10 words for us to journal on and then discuss. Submission was one of those words. Submission. Like others (in a class of about 25 there was two males that day, the next lecture there was only one brave soul), my immediate reaction to the word was negative. Cringing. Sumbmission is not a word I wanted to hear. But we had a good discussion about it that morning and I've had many more since. In the last month in partiuclar it's come up. And while in the wrong context it still has very negative connotations, I am also learning how positive that word can be. How being submissive out of a person's free will is an huge act of love. How without the submission of a son to his Father's will, grace and mercy wouldn't have the meaning it holds. How submission of my life to something bigger than who I am--or could ever hope to be--can actually give me life (not take it away).

Submission leading to love. As an expression of love. What is love then? A word that itself is filled with meaning. Used in good ways and bad. Thrown out at times with little care to what it holds and at the same time being the most simple statement that can change a life. In approaching the Easter celebrations, I'm trying to spend some time thinking about how this holiday is one of the greatest celebrations of love. How it was expressed. And how we (as the collective church and as individuals) should carry out that meaning of love. Too bad most of the year we mess it up so much.



"In the begining was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God." John

A welcome detour.

If I were a character in a novel, I'm currently in the chapter where I've headed off on a detour on my journey. Or maybe in the middle of a few chapters. The scenic route. It still gets me to where I want to be (or at least where I think I'm headed). And it's that special chapter that changes the core of who I am. In fact, while it could appear that I walked off the course, I'm beginning to think this time off the common path was really more planned all along. Th at special story line that some may skip over but it adds the richness and beauty of the character development.

It's the chapter that brings in new friend who brings clarity, redemption and appreciation for other relationships. A lot of laughter. Serious discussions. Honesty. Accountability. Silliness. A catalyst for what others view as trouble. Grace. Lots of coffee. A closeness that some misinterpret (and much more laughter about that). But something I cherish beyond what I can express. It's been a comfort. A learning experience. It's one of those rare relationships in life that I know where ever I go, the impact of the time so far will have lasting effects. And while paths can always change, I hope it's the character that remains in my story for a long time.

It's the chapter that I can no longer imagine what the destination could look like without this character in my life. It's forever changed how I will finish off the story. And while as the character in my own story, who I am will dictate the rest of the story. But I hope the author doesn't change this companion on my destination. There is a new sense of excitement and joy of new chapters to unfold. What time and experiences may bring. And as characters come and go, I hope this particular one sticks around for a long time.

Pancake Day 2009--first annual:)

A few random notes before I start my reflections...

~I LOVE my friendships. I love the joy they bring in my life. I love that shared history, good and bad, brings us closer, like a family. I love sharing meals with them. I love the laughter that filled my small little place tonight!

~I'm writing this from my laptop in my bedroom! Normally this would be no big deal. But my wireless has not been connected correctly for months now. Thanks to Rob and Steve, I now can travel any where in my small little condo and still be connected.

~Inviting friends over and then making them cook is a fantastic idea!

I'll spare you of a few other thoughts. But I'm content tonight. Well, more filled with joy. Blessed by where I'm at even when there are still things to do, change, experience. I'm thankful.


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I often miss the season of Lent. I didn't grow up in a church that participated in Ash Wednesday. Sometimes Lent was discussed but often it was missed, or not explained very well. So many times I couldn't figure out why so many people had dirt on their foreheads. This year I wanted to learn more about the tradition. Learn the basis for it. Was there something to this season worth participating for myself? And I came across Pancake Day. Celebrated in Britian and Ireland (and a few other countries), it's similar to Fat Tuesday. I love pancakes.

I invited friends over and we enjoyed pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit and some chocolate covered strawberries. Conversation. Laughter. Community. I forget sometimes how much I love having people over. Life has sped up to a near frantic pace at times. And while I have a lot of fun, I have become tired of trying to do too much. And I've had to stop doing things and say no to a lot this year. But sometimes I have cut the wrong things out of my life. Tonight was a reminder that besides the tax benefits and the roof over my head, my quiet little condo also must be shared. I love quiet moments with just Thornton (my cat) and I. But I also love to have people to enjoy my time here.

After dinner a few of us remained to watch Chocolat. Set during Lent, it was a perfect movie to kick of this season. Full of grace for those who need it the most. And a reminder that sometimes love looks different than the rules and expectations we place on it. What struck me most was how much love was expressed outside the church. How unconditional love looked from one woman could be who refused to follow rules that were no longer about God but about power and control. To bring joy and happiness into a simple world. And the antithesis of her grace was the hate and nonsense from the town church. That God became a burden to his followers and the joy and freedom Christ promised was absent. It weighs on my heart that the church so often is not the expression of Christ's love as intended. Although it still can be found. I still see it. But I find myself angry and bitter so often at those who call themselves Christians. (and still remind myself that I too am broken, bitter, and full of that which does not reflect God's love either). What if the church could look at God with longing for peace and compassion? What would it look like if the church could remember that Christ came for all, and most importantly for the the sick not the self righteous and "perfect"? Where would Christ most likely be today? Probably not in a fancy church building. More likely in the streets, with children and orphans, the outcasts, those we make quick judgments about their worth based on the clothes they wear or the car they drive. What happened to the example Jesus showed in three years of ministry? Can we remember what Christ was preparing himself for in the days to come?

There is a scene that showed the crucfix above the mayor of the city who had spread the hate and fear to those in the church and town. "Look, I've been off this cross for 2000 years" is the comment from a friend. That brough laughter but a moment of truth as well. Christ's suffering didn't mean that we were supposed to remain in death during our live times. He conquered death so that we could all have life. He didn't need to remain nailed to the cross any longer. An empty tomb on Sunday means that we can also come out of our tombs and truly live. What would our lives look like if we had more joy? more love? hope? acceptance and encouragement? I'm not willing to give up on this. And while somedays I'm first to curse the sillness, hate, ignorance, and often stupidity of some within the church, I also see those who exhibit those qualities Jesus lived, died and conqued the grave for. He loved the church with and unconditional love. Loved his people and continued time and again mercy and grace when we least deserved. A parent accpeting a child. A lover calling his beloved home. A friend forgiving. A creator who is redeeming his creation.

I start this Lent off giving up something. This year it's trash TV. well more of the extra hours I spend watching mindless episodes even where there is nothing on. Or watching Real World or Real Housewives of Orange County--because who really needs to watch them anyway. I'm doing it to use that time to so something more honoring to God in these next 40 days. But watching this movie tonight, there is a peace that I give it not as a burden, but a willing sacrifice to invest in my relationship with God. To sit and listen to his still small whipsers. To talk. To restore the brokenness I have caused. To know that in the end my giving up something is so small. But opening my heart, letting it be transformed is really what God desires the most. He wants me. Loves me. Sacrificed more than I can imagine and calls to me over and over again. Despite my faults and failures, my hypocricy, my own hate, selfishness and greed, He still opens his arms wide and comes running to me. And only through that love for me can I learn to love others. May I come closer this Lent season to being a better reflection of Christ. And may their be joy in my offering.

my visual brain....

Last Monday night, I joined Kindle and Steve for sushi. Always good conversation with these two. (And who would have thought I'd enjoy eating raw fish?)

Kindle was sharing about one of the students at the learning center she works. He had a huge success at learning to read after 10 weeks. Kudos to the people who brought this ability into this little boy's life!

The skill to read--something I take for granted. I read ALL of the time. I almost always have a book in my purse, usually one in the car, one on my night stand, and sometimes a few others I've started laying throughout my place. Even when it's not a book...it's a blog or an email, a articles, or a cereal box. My eyes are always scanning to read something. My bookshelves overflow with both read and unread novels. I drool over book stores and have banned myself this year from buying new books until I read what I already have. When I was younger, I was always the child with the flash light under the covers long past my bed time (I blame my poor eye sight on that "bad" habit). I often forget that many people don't read like I do for whatever reason.

So I was fascinated to hear Kindle talk about the research about how the brain reads. All of the functional MRI data that shows the differences of what is working when different people read. And how typically people who read a lot have a lot of activity in the occipital lobe.

Ah ha! A connection...reading for me is such an escape. It's my ability to jump into another world and visit new people and places. My imagination while reading is always very vivid. No wonder I like to read so much. Those neurons in my occipital lobe must be firing at incredible rates. I wonder what the functional MRI would look like on my brain as i travel through time, visit imaginary lands, gain perspective on the past, dream about the future. The money I've spent on books in my lifetime probably could pay for quite a few vacations (which hopefully I can still take). But I can open the pages of a book and in minutes be transported to something beyond myself. I do this with non-fiction as well. Something new (or even familiar) to experience that is available just about anytime I want.

But somehow this visual reading wasn't always transferred in to reading the Bible. Something sucked the joy out of jumping into that world. Actually people did that, and I went along with the idea that there were just a lot of rules, static history, and completely irrelevant to what I was experiencing. There were times the stories came alive, but often it was pushed aside for another book--even books about the Bible. Yet, now I'm finding excitement again as I step into the stories with new eyes. Picturing Paul as he wrote letters to churches from jail cells, Moses leading people through a dessert, Isaiah telling his countrymen of how they led themselves into exile and about the coming hope of salvation. It's not always easy to swallow a lot of what happens in this collection of books. But this love story has so much to say about who God is, who we are, and a redemption that surpasses any other story (as well as the murder, deceit, affairs, seduction...). Arguments are made all the time about how to interpret the Bible...liberal or conservation, fundamental, in the context of evangelizing, or just a collection of myths and parables. There is room for these conversations and shouldn't be thrown out (although at times those discussions/debates/fights can be ridiculous and more about power and control then really about God or Jesus).

How exciting it is to rediscover this world again. Thousands of years ago, at specific times, to specific people. I can transport into another time and place about a people who I can relate. Sometimes I hurt with them, the pains of life, the devastation that forgetting God can bring, the loneliness, oppression, anger, injustice. Other times I rejoice, when someone has received mercy, justice has won out, love was shown to another. Some passages I just can't wrap my head around or just can't fathom reading (really Numbers? really? I can hardly pronounce the names yet alone care about this list).

But when I read other books I usually don't go in with the intention of judging but of learning. How humbling it is to come to this often difficult book and want to experience the good AND bad. To look at the big picture and then dive into the specific books, chapters, and characters. Oh if I could understand Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic to actually read these in their original languages with all the context of the time or the poetry of the writers (even understand their own lives and biases). Or maybe I really should just read more in English though!

Can I engage in these stories like I do other books? Maybe then I can open my heart to them as I open my head to visualizing these often confusing concepts and stories. Can these stories jump out in color instead of the black and white letters on thin sheets of paper?

the story...big and small

frac·tal. noun
Etymology: French fractale, from Latin fractus broken, uneven (past participle of frangere to break) + French -ale -al (noun suffix)

: any of various extremely irregular curves or shapes for which any suitably chosen part is similar in shape to a given larger or smaller part when magnified or reduced to the same size


A couple of months ago at a hearing aid training I learned about fractals. For the most part this is a visual concept. A lot of math! And most of the explanation goes far beyond what I care to comprehend. After all I like words, not numbers. Images of fractals can be found all over the internet and even in nature (snow flakes, crystals, river networks, broccoli, and systems of blood vessels) The Oh-so-favorite-Wikipedia has some good examples and information. But fractal technology is also now being applied to auditory stimuli for tinnitus (ringing in the ears) and stress relief. There is nothing like sitting in a Saturday seminar learning about a concept that seems far beyond something that should actually apply to my field...yet I found it fascinating (along with a paid hotel room, free continuing education, and a clue about all the new hearing aid technology that I'm relearning).

So for the past few months I have found myself being much more aware of fractals and even have my current iGoogle theme set for fractals. Recently I read The Shack (William P. Young) which used fractal patterns in a garden as metaphor of God working in our lives. Recalling the description, I believe the reference was to how beauty and patterns can be found in what looks like chaos to some. Looking at some of the fractal patterns I have come across recently, I have been in awe at the striking images that these geometric patterns can produce. And in thinking of the book's example, I have pondered how this fractal term might also apply more to the story we're all in--humanity--most specifically in the context of faith.

While some view the Bible as a collection of rules, do's and do not's, I have grown to love the story woven through this collection of history, poetry and letters. The big picture of a infinite being who loves very finite creatures who are ALWAYS screwing things up. And all the little stories of these individuals and communities who fail to keep their side of the deal, they are still sought out by God to reconcile their relationship. Stories I first experienced in pre-school on flannel story board became hard-to-follow rules as I got older. But I am experiencing the richness of stories again. Those that happened centuries ago in a very different backdrop.

I can see my story in it as well. My story of constantly screwing things up. My often cries from the deepest part of my soul to be saved. And that there is always a chance for redemption. A chance to be freed from oppression (even though it is often self-inflicted).

I see our American story with in the pages of the Hebrew story. Of a nation escaping oppression only in turn to screw it up. Pride took over and we learned how to oppress others. How communities with our country experienced oppression and captivity and have cried out for salvation. Such as a group of people who were brought here as slaves, freed with a war only to have to continue fighting even to this day for equality.

I see the Hebrew story played out in art, music and film and literature. It may be in an epic adventure like the Lord of the Rings Trilogy or just a piece of the story like watching Garden State. Sometimes the story is screams out to me in watching Shawshank Redemption or many of the superhero stories. But it also is echoed in much smaller stories or within a subplot of what I'm currently reading or watching or listening to. This year I was convinced to watch Battlestar Gallactica which has some incredible reflection of not only our current stories but again the Hebrew story--all of our human stories. I have begun to appreciate how Science Fiction is that magnification of the story set in an imagined time and place with the same good and bad within history and within where we are at this moment in time.

The stories of the Old and New Testaments have shaped my life for good or bad. They are just a much part of my own history as they are the history of Israel. As I keep rereading them I see new reflections of who I was, am and becoming. More and more I find myself thankful that not one of us is out of range of grace we are offered. So what will I choose to do with that grace? Will I accept it? Will I extend it to others? How many times will my pattern of life show oppression, cries for salvation, forgiveness, and outpouring of joy?

Until the day I die I think this will continue to be my story. As it continues to be all of our stories.

I wonder... (musings after another prop 8 forward)

What if we looked at people more instead of "issues"? What if building up other PEOPLE versus fighting for a cause were the priority? What if I looked at myself and accepted that I'm not perfect but also loved...and then saw that other people were also different yet still worthy of love?

I've kept pretty quiet with most people on my views on Prop 8. There are some I can openly discuss it with, others I have not bothered to discuss it with. I've deleted many emails from each side (although to be open, usually I've deleted or been irritated by more numerous emails preaching for a law that I believe shouldn't be a government issue in the first place). But it bothers me...And I've asked why I don't like to fight for my point of view. Part of it is my own journey in figuring out what church, culture, the Bible, others have to say about it. Certainly with friendships and family, I've changed some of my views I grew up believing. I don't always know if my views have changed for the "right" reasons. I don't have all the answers. And people on both sides of the argument will have plenty of reasons why I should make up my mind one way or another. But if anything, I want to see past the issue and see the person. This is not a discussion about my theology on the issue. This is a discussion and confession of how we (I) treat others. Why do people's differences become more than who they are?

Let's leave out whether you think a difference is a sin or not and just question ourselves (again myself too!) about why we let a detail, a personality difference, color of skin, disability, disagreement or other "differences" get in the way of valuing other individuals? And how does our need to fight for our opinion make us lose sight of what is important.

This weekend I sat at women's retreat crying as I heard so many women share about their heart...because despite the differences in circumstances the hurt was universal. And not just with women, I could see that humans are all hurting. We all want to be loved, valued and worth something. But we build walls to protect our worlds, make values and rules for ourselves that often cut off rather than build up community. Pretty soon our differences become something we hold against each other. Then that difference becomes an issue. And issue that we have to vote on. An issue that we've spent millions on to make a law or fight about. And on either side we've forgotten that this should always be a discussion about people. (Many people remember this, but there is still a large percentage that leave people out of the discussion and just talk about values or causes).

I wonder what we could accomplish if we could have used the money to help people--particularly in these times when we are in the midst of wars, financial crisis, world AIDS or poverty crisis--and those causes need to be thought of in terms of the people involved as well. Not fight on the issue. If we had spent all the time figuring out how to love others, care for them, see our brokenness in each person and "fight" for bringing people together. Okay, some are saying this sounds like crazy liberal talk. I can admit I tend to agree on some issues on a more liberal side. I'm also a Christian which brings in all kinds of assumptions from both the church and those outside of who I should be, how I should vote, what my beliefs are. But why should that cause people to shut off listening to who I am as a person and what I bring in to the conversation.

Both sides of this "issue" have missed the point. I've missed the point. The violence and hate that each side has cause (mostly by the extreme) had divided us. We point fingers and say "look what they did, look how they spread their message with hate, look how they're wrong, look how much better I am than them". What would it look like if we cared enough to peacefully have the discussion. To have a conversation that we can love people even when we don't agree. What if the church encouraged people to look at themselves first, both individually and collectively--honestly? What difference would it look like if those for Prop 8 spent more time first loving others for who they were then discussing their beliefs? what if those against prop 8 did the same? What if prop 8 didn't even have to be an issue because we were finding ways to invest our time in emails, arguments, money, time in seeing how we can be a community--sharing our meals, our time, our talents, investing in others. yes, I am more harsh with the church because we should know better. We should be setting the example of how to love others. The church should be following better examples, fighting for loving and caring for others.

I can already here in my head what others would say. The arguments could be endless. I can't change someones point of view and personally I have other things than one law I'd rather fight for. But when it comes down to it, I always want to be asking myself "what is more important?" At the end of my day, at the end of my life, I want others to know I loved them. Not that I had a certain point of view, fought for a cause or an issue. That I loved. And that I was loved.

To emotional health....

So tonight I met with a counselor. I've only told a few people so far I was going to be doing this. I knew going into this there would be some tears and some "issues" to deal with...in only seconds of walking into the room that was confirmed. There are plenty of things that will be said in there I may not even be able to share with even my closest friends sometimes but I felt the need to share some of what came pouring out as I walked out the door to my car and my drive home. So as I've lost 50 lbs of my physical weight this last year, it's time to sort through some emotional weight as well. And in my life long journey to also integrate my spiritual journey with everything I do (and my recent need to find a creative--as I can be--way to express that) here is a post that I could potentially want to delete but will be vunerable tonight...for whatever it's worth.

P.s. thanks to two dear friends that gave me a "deadline" for making the appointment on a rainy day drinking Starbucks...for the love of my "dysfunctional family" of four that have turned my world upside down this year!



“Do you know was a beautiful face you have?”

Those are the words she said as I sat down on the couch. Words that caught me off guard but filled me up. She was a conduit. The words were coming from a being that I needed to hear from the most. They are words I long to hear. Words that set the foundation for the rest of the hour. And somehow I think they are the words that have set the foundation for so much more to come.

Abandonment. Co-dependency. Perfectionist.

Those are words about other people. Words you hear on TV or bounced about in conversation about other family members, friends, co-workers, acquaintances. But tonight, much to my dismay but also my relief, they were words about me. As tears fell, my new counselor was putting in words and pictures what I needed to hear. The faults I had that were keeping me from what I want most. Do I even know what I want most? ...I am at loss for words and imagery but she was putting together some of the pieces. Tonight one corner was found. In hours to come, she’ll be my guide as other corners and pieces are put back together. And I could feel that there was someone else who saw the completed picture of who I was created to be. The someone else who was the surface I could dump out my box of mixed up pieces. And would be the one (and has been) to guide people and situations and myself as each piece was reconnected.

My family. My past. My friendships. Hurts, triumphs, burdens, joy and sorrow. All the things that create the lenses I look through. I wouldn’t call them rose-colored lenses. There is a lot of dirt on them now. Smudges, cracks and scratches. There is brilliance beyond it all but distracted by the cynicism, doubt, anger, and mourning I feel. Mourning for a relationship I haven’t even lost yet. And I think also mourning for a relationship I’ve tried so hard to lose. At the end of the hour, as they counselor prayed, my hand held gently in hers, the biggest relevation of all hit. I felt abandoned by God.

Yet I believe it was him saying “do you know what a beautiful face you have?”. It was God saying, “I’m still here. I didn’t go anywhere. I still love you. I’m am all around, and yes, mostly I’ve been in the unexpected places because that’s where you’re eyes are open.”

So in her gentle eyes and soothing voice, this will be a new place that I feel is like a church. Where I can come as I am. Lay out my worries and battle wounds. Let the tears fall (and snot as well!). And be embraced for who I have been, who I am. and who I am becoming. Where the cross is less about the ornamental “junk” like what has become of the years of history and problems humans have degraded it with, but a symbol of the most powerful love. Love that transcends rules, brokenness, pain--that heals, unifies and comforts. It’s the cross that we are told to pick up daily and follow. A love that is always there but I couldn’t see when I settled for far less that it is.