Ghost-Riding Cars

Isn't it always when you least expect it? The saying goes something like that, anyways. See, I've been pondering buying a new[er] car. It was just this week I sort of came to terms with the fact that my car works just fine, and now it just not the time; I don't feel particularly like taking on another monthly payment of any sort, as I have enough already.

Then yesterday happened. It started out as a faint, unfamiliar chirping noise that subtly made itself known behind the sounds of my stereo. It grew the next time I drove, to a high-pitched whirring noise, not unlike a small plane's engines starting up - I was worried something might shoot out of the front end. Then, I stupidly and only slightly reluctantly went to the gym. When I got back in the car, I said to myself "here goes nothing!"  But there went something: clunk, cu-clunk, clunk, clunk. So I just turned it off.

After an hour of waiting for both a tow-truck and my roommate to bring my purse with my AAA card, the tow truck driver turned the car on - with the same clunking present - and drove it onto the angled-bed of his truck, drove the approximate 5 blocks to the repair shop and didn't even look at my membership card or I.D. Essentially all for naught.

On the upside, I actually walked myself somewhere today. I am the opposite of a home-body. I like my home to be a comfortable place, but I don't really like to be there, at least not alone. So to better get work done, I go somewhere. It actually derails the process briefly, but for some strange reason when I do get on track I am much more concentrated.

I had to call eighty-seven year old my grandpa who happened to be up in the city, to give me a lift back to Bloomington to borrow my mom's SUV. I kind of like driving the SUV, minus all her bumperstickers that I swear have nearly gotten me rage-run off the road a few times. I thought, waiting on the couch for my grandpa, I wish you could ghost-ride cars. As if that would completely solve all my problems in an instant.

Nonprofit Writing

I just came from my first official, in-person interview as a writer for Thirty-Two magazine. I am shaking and teary, as I really think about it: I get to do this! Something Veronica Descotte, founder of Cakes on Wheels - the woman I interviewed said resonated heavily with me: "I am just so lucky to do this."

Even if this is the only article I get to write about nonprofits, or for Thirty-Two, I am just so excited and honored that I get to do this. If you haven't heard of Thirty-Two, and you're from the Twin Cities go to the list of shops that carry the magazine, and try to see if your can get your hands on a copy. It's worth every penny. It's so refreshing to know that someone still believes in print, and not just any print but damn good print! The magazine is a beautiful thing to behold, and it's goal (in my own words) is to exemplify the culture of the Twin Cities Metro and on a larger scale as well, the Midwest and its relevance.

We tend to get a bad rap in Minneapolis-St. Paul that we're not relevant, or we're too Midwestern - whatever that means. I think Thirty-Two tries to fight that stereotype, but not falsely. And I think it's just a great thing to be a part of, even if it's potentially only for one go.

It's inspiring to meet someone who had an idea and went with it, creating this great project that reaches out so simply but effectively. Then to get to write about it in a magazine that's just getting off the ground but doing so, so beautifully...I can't believe it! I walked away from Veronica's house, toward my car after she said goodbye and gave me a hug, and I was just excited.

I'm the type of person who could have an idea and be so excited, but nothing happens. And I've known for at least two years now that writing about nonprofits is what I want to do. And I won't shake a stick at an opportunity such as this.

If I believed in luck...I'm just so lucky.

How He Loves

Lately, God has been teaching me a really heavy lesson. This lesson is one that I thought I'd already understood and grasped, not that I needed to be taught yet. I am starting to see that I was wrong, and I had only a part of the picture. He's been teaching me about His love.

Being a self-proclaimed highly-introspective person, I've always thought of myself as one who loves big. And until recent years of being burned [what I considered] one too many times, I sort of loved with abandon. My heart would just crash into the someone, or so I thought.

I went through a couple of really important friendships, - important both in retrospect knowing what I do now, and important because they were just that - and have only recently come to the realization that I have been shying from seeking the deeper connections that I once so loved. In many situations I've found myself avoiding interactions I would normally throw myself into without a thought for the sake of the possibility, now scared of the chance that I'll invest and get myself hurt.

Get myself hurt.

And this is something I've been coming to understand. See, God has been teaching me about how He loves. The way I love is not a full picture of His own, and I was prideful enough to think that. He has put people in my life that haven't been easy. He's put them there, drawn our paths together, and challenged me. People who like different things than I do. People who communicate differently than I do. People who I wouldn't normally agree with. People who don't see what I see in their self. People who don't believe truth, - indubitable truth about their worth and place.

And weave together. Then there's this feeling. This sense of just how great it is that this individual is unique; that all of the characteristics and talents that go together in them, are not found in anyone else. Ever. And I just feel like they are this gem. I'm overwhelmed. And then God tells me, This is my heart, not your own; this is how I love. And I have this realization: my love is broken, your love is broken; His love sees through all the crap that distracts us, and the stuff that's not crap, but we see it that way.

Then comes the realization of how it must feel. When I'm so overwhelmed all I can do is cry, or try not to - depending on where I am, or how I feel in that moment, or who's watching and might judge me for feeling things too real. How it must feel to be rejected. How it must feel to have someone not care, when you tell them you love them. How it must feel to watch someone betray their talents for get-rich-quick or ten-second happiness. Then my heart breaks all over again.

This is how He loves. How constantly must His heart be broken? How often must He be beaming and joyful before slashed by the sting of rejection? This is how He loves. We can never fully understand, but we get pieces and portions.

I just try to think of the greatest love I have and the greatest love I receive; and this is how He loves.

The Weight of My Love

The weight of love
Sits heavy in me
And it wells up,
climbing from the pit in my gut
to the top of me
to crawl forth from my eyes
and ever so gently dance
down the hills of my face.

And this is the weight of my love for you;
this is the best justice
that I can do
to explain the weight of this love,
a smile on my face.

No One, As You Are

No one has ever truly known me,
as You Are who defines knowing me.

No one has ever really loved me,
as You Are who defines love; is love.

No one has ever seen me,
as You Are who sees; transcends.

No one has ever heard me,
as You Are who hears; even unspoken words.

No one, as You Are.

A Cold Approach

Autumnal nights
Where my thoughts dance
Just beneath my skin
Ghosts rustle at the chance for freedom
The moon exposes them like covert romance
But they won't last
Dried remnants of the not-too distant past
I feel a creeping on me
A villain follows my path
Awaits to defeat my melancholy comrades
Awaits to devour me
Snuff me out
Bury me...
So I relish in such a moment
Stark air swallows me,
Sends a message to my bones:
"He is coming, you are never ready."

(originally written 10/5/12)

Reasons to Love PMS

I don't PMS often (it's not really a verb, but we use it as a verb), but when I do, I make it count. I've always been one of those girls that thinks hormones are no excuse for erratic behavior, so I still try to keep the wrath of mine to myself, but it manages to come out in the silliest of ways.

(I'm also the type of girl that thinks talking about periods and anything related to them is pretty unnecessary, but...here I am...)

For starters, I'll blame PMS for my having impulsively bought heels on Friday while in Duluth for a women's conference. Women's conference. Bad timing. Everything that was sad or moving in its nature, made me gasp because I was so suddenly overcome with emotions from it.

The kicker, and what I would say is the epitome of my version of PMS, was today. I was having a really tough time getting through work today; just long, difficult projects. So I decided to pursue a vending machine ally, and for some reason it was M&M's. I don't usually care about M&M's. If they're there, I might eat some, I might not. Today, I had to have M&M's. I get to the vending machine, and there's only peanut. Which I weirdly loathe, - but again, I'll eat them, if I have to. So I relent, buy the peanut ones.

On my drive home, I'm at the traffic light, driving by target thinking, I really want regular M&M's...those peanut ones just didn't cut it! And I feel myself getting ready, to get ready to cry. I realize I need to drop off my netflix, the post office is on the way to target; a great excuse. So I go in, get my big bag, thinking I can share with my small group.

As I'm in the car, at a light waiting to turn out of the parking lot, I grab the bag of candy - because naturally I need to eat some in the three minute drive home. On the back is a deceptive ad for their Dark Chocolate version. Now, I am not a dark chocolate fan, and I see this, and I let out an albeit, over-dramatic yell of frustration that at the time felt justified...NOT dark chocolate! I turned them over with a sigh of relief.

PMS is a monster virus that lives in women and rampages the world. (Sorry if you are a man and read this and you didn't want to, but it's probably time you knew.)

[Re]Gaining Confidence

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-poston-bicycle-20130219,0,7268780.story

This is something I would write; I like it, I thought about half way through the article. If this guy can do it, so can I.

It's a nice little read, not very complex, but enjoyable. To me that's one of the most important things about writing: if it's not enjoyable, even if only in some sort of masochistic, make-you-cry or light-the-fire-of-justice-under-your-butt-way, then why write it? It's a little slice of one's perspective, and that may just be a preference of mine, but I also think it's important, too. Reading to gain perspective; writing to share it.

And I just thought to myself, if this [midwestern] guy can go make it in L.A. writing the equivalent of some of my blog posts for one of the country's biggest news organizations, I can write for a living too.

It's not too much to ask.

But this is how I feel today, right now, in a moment of the inspiration of an approachable playing field...ask me what I think again tomorrow.

When I Fell in Love With Minneapolis

I first fell in love with Minneapolis in the snow. Not just in the winter, when there was the usual Minnesota build up - the falling snow. For lack of a less cliche way to say it, there's something just magical about it. My city, she wears it well.

Tonight, driving toward the skyline with the fluff barreling down on a highway cast in the haze of red tail lights from overly-cautious drivers, I was reminded of that feeling. The blissful, warm, simmering love that stirs up when you've forgotten but are reminded; the little bubbles of I don't think I'll ever leave you, rise to the surface and burst, like an exhale.

Magic.

See, I was a suburb kid. My magic was in long, windy roads with no sidewalks or curbs, houses of all kinds that had big green yards. It was in the creek you could lost in, just a ten minute walk from my house. It was in smiley, sweet old neighbors who gave us candy and we never once questioned them. I never thought outside of my safe little world, knowing from a young age how to get from one edge of town to the next. And if all else failed, beauty could always be found at midnight, in the dead of winter, looking up at a star-filled velvet.

I had, of course, been to the city long before I fell in love with it. I guess it goes the way of many love stories; I didn't even like it at first. It scared me - intimidated, is the right word. I didn't understand the appeal to broken glass, worn-down buildings, or the crowded-ness. I think it rocked my comfortable little ways, in a manner I didn't quite appreciate.

This is not to say I didn't like getting out of the little 'burban bubble. We traveled, when I was growing up; mostly to places with even more nature, and less signs of man than the quaint neighborhood where we lived. The great exception was New York, whose - looking back on it - greatness I was too young to fathom. The If I Can Make It Here brand outshines my actual memories of the city ten years later. I'd really never thought of myself as a city girl.

Fast-forward only a few years from that trip to New York, and I laid eyes on what stole my heart: a gritty, tough city beautifully masked in an increasing dusting of a purifying white. And that was when I knew, this is a place I love and always will. Even my first stint living here, (and on my own) my courtship, if you will, began in winter. There's something so disarming to me about this city in a fresh and building snow. It's suddenly so quiet and peaceful, and all its flaws and blemishes are hidden away, under a sparkle.

It's my running joke in the winter that I don't know why we live here. The truth is even though I don't believe in luck, whenever it snows in Minneapolis and I get even a glimpse of it, my heart races and I think, I'm so lucky to live here; this is why I live here.

Who God Is Not

I've spent my entire life, more than less, in Christian circles. I've managed never to be brain-washed, though that's not to say I haven't heard things I'm sad to know are perceived and perpetuated as part of the belief system I claim as mine. That's beside the point. I've learned a lot about God and I'm constantly developing my sense of Him, and the more I learn the more I come to realize how much He is misunderstood, misrepresented, and misinterpreted.

The point that gets so often missed, and I missed until I was about 15, is that it's about relationship. God is not showing himself through Fox News (no matter what they or anyone tells you), not through Obama, not through celebrities who make award speeches about changing the world, not through funeral protests, not through suicide pacts, not through bible-thumping street preachers on ladders, and not through men in funny hats who make up new reasons that you are not enough. We get so lost in all the things people [we] make God, that we kill and bury the fact that He is about relationship. One could attempt to argue this, but one thing that I can assure can never be argued otherwise is that the bible is all about love. Love is a relationship.

I've known about God my whole life, I've known God for what I would say is going on seven years - though there is what I would refer to as evidence of Him in my entire life. And I still constantly forget that He is about love. I forget that He's good. I get sucked into the worldly portrayals of Him as a King Triton-esque man who sits on the clouds and strikes people with lightning that He's "done" with.

Christians tend to put their rules first, instead of the relationship. The bible calls them first to lending an ear or a hand, not pointing a finger - yet this is what the world sees, and it's not a figment of anyone's imagination.

Jesus spoke of the least of these; He taught about giving the most you possibly can. When He was in mourning, He still cared for others. When He brought correction He did so with gentleness and grace. He served as one of his last actions of freedom.

Upon having the slow-building realization that Jesus' life is almost nothing like what the church is known for amongst non-believers today, I wanted to know what I can tell people who've been hurt by the people who are meant to be emulating the life of Christ. People who shy from church, or the bible or the mention of God, because they've been force-fed some watered down, filtered version of the message of Christianity!

So I started asking myself, what does the bible say this whole thing is really about - what does Jesus teach with His life?

Though my growing up was thick with teachings on the bible, I'm still constantly learning from it. I am still turning it upside down, trying to figure out what does it really mean. Not pulling verses out of context and creating some picture of God that fits the image I've made Him into - but really reading, discussing, and internalizing the words.

See, the bible is the only concrete thing we can have as a common thread between Christians, and even then there's arguments over translation, synonyms, what have you. This is where enlightenment comes in. For the purpose here, enlightened meaning knowing God in a personal way, in which your spirit connects to His. Also referred to simply as interactions.

The only two things that I see as shaping my perception of God's character are reading and internalizing the word, and what I know of Him, from my life. Not what I know from what people tell me, or claim He's saying, or wants, or is doing, or will do! No. None of those, though as faith matures one may learn what is true of God that is being presented to them, and what is someone playing Him.

Because God is about love; about relationship, His interactions in our lives combined with the history of His character and the story of His Great Act of Love are the only possible picture we can have of God. He is not a painting of a bearded, white man with pretty blue eyes, or an old man, in a toga with a sceptor. He's not a judge in a black robe with a heavy, swinging gavel. He is not a protestor at a funeral or a wedding. He is not mother nature. He is not a dictator.

Many may not have anything other than a basic knowledge of the bible, but will likely have an immediate thought of God's interaction in their lives, so the question is begged: Who is God?

navigating boredom

fingers dance a rhythm on my lips
to pass the time
knuckles crack
and muscles stretch
toes they tap
head bobs
mind is drowned in a sea of thoughts
with no attempt to stay afloat;
no mental breast stroke
no cerebral butterfly
just sinking
to the depths;
where lies what floor -
i don't know.