Highlights from corporate e-mail signatures

1."Think about the environment before printing this e-mail."
Umm, try thinking about why you would print a piece of electronic mail at all. Sorry, this is just a pet peeve of mine -- I've worked for so many people who print out all their e-mails and file them.

But even better is this:

2. "My leadership causes power and passion in everyone I touch."
Maybe, but your e-mails cause nausea and disgust in everyone who receives them.

Sending down roots

Mr. Wonderful is at school right now, experiencing anew those glorious days known as freshman/transfer orientation week. Part of me pities him the 18-year-old folly he'll have to deal with over the next few days (and years); the other part of me is very proud of him for taking the plunge and going back to finish college.

The house is looking and feeling a bit more like home, as you can see from the dining room photos . . . and although the master bedroom had to get a lot worse before it could get any better (it's currently ripped apart!) we're definitely on our way to transforming our new sleeping quarters into a peaceful, organized haven.

Lewis seems to be struggling with the transition -- he's been displaying all sorts of unpleasant behavior lately -- and I'm not quite sure what to do with him. If you think of it, please pray for him and us; we're just not sure yet how to help him.

We're getting used to riding the bus now -- learning the subtle art of when to pay, where to get on and off, and how to walk steadily and gracefully up and down the aisle while the bus is lurching forward.

We're also trying to figure out precisely what neighborhood we live in; we seem to be just barely on one side or the other of several dividing lines. Does that mean we're in a neighborly no man's land? Or that we have multiple citizenships?

I'm still looking for a job (and not being too successful -- at least, no one except for Trader Joe's has called me for an interview). But I'm holding out hope that something will come through soon. Specifically, I'm hoping and praying for a phone call or e-mail tomorrow, because as much fun as it would be to work at Trader Joe's, I'm pretty sure it won't pay the bills for long. Anyway, I'm committed to working for the good of this city, and I will give just about any job my all -- so it's just a matter of time before someone sees that and decides to try me out.

We visited a new church today -- Eastminster Presbyterian. Sometimes I think the Pittsburgh church situation is a little like the scene in The Blues Brothers when Jake and Elwood enter a bar and ask what kind of music they play there -- "Oh, we've got both kinds: country and western," is the reply. Well, here in Pittsburgh, they've got lots of church diversity: there's Reformed Presbyterian, Presbyterian Church in America, Presbyterian Church USA, and even a few Orthodox Presbyterian congregations. WOW! It's a good thing I'm basically O.K. with Calvinism (Mr. Wonderful, however, is not -- he's an Arminian through and through, hence the dozens of late-night arguments we've had over the past seven years regarding predestination, free will, and the sovereignty of God. So this should be a little challenging for him).

Anyway, Eastminster seemed like a friendly church, and I like its tagline -- "Christ-centered and intentionally cross-cultural." However, today was an atypical service, as the pastor was on vacation (August is a terrible time for church-shopping). So we'll probably go back some other Sunday, and see what we think then. I'd still really like to go to Friendship Community Church (also Presbyterian, heh heh) but we promised ourselves we'd look around first, so we will.

It's easy for me to feel down -- and alone -- here in our new place, with no co-workers or small group or good friends nearby, and the house in such a state. But tomorrow will come, as fresh and full of surprises as the farmer's market I go to on Mondays. And thankfully, the God who surprised me last week with the sweetest and most tender beets I've ever tasted -- purchased from a rough-looking crowd of teenagers in a torn-up parking lot -- that God has an imagination vaster than mine will ever be. So if I can find farm-fresh beets in the hood, who knows? Maybe even I will find a place here in Pittsburgh to send down roots of my own.

The dining room: before . . .

. . . and after

Trying to decide if I like it here.

It occurred to me today, when I was asking my husband for the millionth time if he was O.K., that maybe I'm not sold on living here. Me--the change addict, the person who's been so optimistic about moving to a new city--could it be that I'm having a little trouble adjusting?

Yeah, it's possible. I don't want to admit it, though. So I guess that's why I'm posting it on my blog?

Lewis and Mr. Incredible are doing well so far. The move was rough, but we had so many great friends and family members helping us, and they kept us from completely losing it on multiple occasions.

We're basically moved into our new house now; at least, we're not really camping anymore! Tomorrow, Mr. Incredible goes back to work (from home) and I pound the pavement, looking for a job. I'm looking forward to it; resuming the job search will give me something to focus on other than the fact that our whole house needs to be remodeled. Hopefully this week we'll be able to start work on the master bedroom; we may actually end up blowing in insulation, drywalling over the plaster walls, and redoing all the electrical work before we even get to the fun cosmetic stuff . . . but if we can accomplish it, I'm sure we'll be very happy with the result.

On a more positive note, however, I am absolutely loving our neighborhood and our location here in the city. Our walks with Lewis are the perfect opportunity to take in the incredible architecture that surrounds us on all sides. From the dramatically sloped roofs of English-style cottages to the bricked arches of 1900s-era stately homes, it's hard to be bored when walking the dog. And, as I suspected, one of my big budget downfalls (although perhaps a good thing for my health) is Whole Foods. We never had one within driving distance at home in Central Pa., and now we live closer to Whole Foods than to Giant Eagle, the "normal" grocery store. There's supposedly a farmer's market tomorrow in our neighborhood, so I might just have to check that out, too.

As I write this, Mr. Incredible is excitedly watching the Steelers' first pre-season game. It's been a highly anticipated game ever since their coach of many years (I think more than 12) threw in the towel at the end of the 2006 season. With a new (and very young) coach, everyone is watching and waiting to see what the Steelers are going to look like this year. Mr. Incredible, a devoted fan, is enthusiastic--but only time will tell. That's basically how I feel right now. This move feels like the right thing to do, and while I may have lots of high hopes for our life in Pittsburgh, I just need to wait and see how it all plays out.

Fitting my life in a U-Haul truck

Tomorrow is the day. Not the day when we actually leave Central Pa., but when we finally forsake the comfort and ultimate suburbanness of this place we've renovated, decorated, and laughed and cried over for more than two years. I'll admit that it's hard, now that I'm faced with the full reality of the situation, to leave this clean, comfortable home for one that will require serious scouring before we even begin to think about repainting and unpacking our boxes.

But we are blessed to have this opportunity, and I know the Pittsburgh house will someday feel every bit as hospitable and homey as our little starter home here in Lewisberry.

Just as I haven't been blogging for months and months, I still probably won't be around much, at least until we get unpacked in Pittsburgh, and I find a job. But everyone is welcome to visit--there's plenty of space in our new abode!

Psalm 42.8

By day the LORD directs his love,

at night his song is with me —

a prayer to the God of my life.

Three weeks' notice

The minutes and hours are passing me by, and I'm too stressed to enjoy them! At least, that's how I've felt recently. We'll be settling on our current house three weeks from yesterday, and from there . . . I don't know where we'll be! But I hope we'll end up here (just the right side of the duplex, not the whole thing):



It's a great old house, and hopefully we can move there in early August!

46

Instead of apologizing for my unbelievably long absence, I'm just going to post. So don't try to make me feel guilty for not writing; just be grateful I'm here now. O.K.?

O.K.

Why do we even say that? It's not even a word.

O.K., focus.

Sorry. I'm really going to write now. O.K.?

The last few months have been an agonizing combination of waiting and preparing, working tirelessly on our house so we can sell it--but knowing for sure if we would sell it anyway.

Thankfully, God and Carnegie Mellon University saw fit to let Mr. Incredible know that he is accepted into their computer science program for the fall . . . so now obsessive mail-checking and "well, we don't know if we're moving or not" conversations are over. And we are so grateful!

There are still so many details to work out . . . how will we sell our little house? Where will I work once in Pittsburgh? Will we rent or buy? And as we consider the last question, we must always be asking, "where will Lewis poop?" Sorry, but it's a fact of life. The dog is going with us, and so is his business.

But in the meantime, I have 46 more days to work, to contribute to the Brethren in Christ. I have longer than that to be with friends and family while we're still here--but suddenly, three months doesn't seem like a very long time.

I'll write more later . . . I just felt like I needed to break the ice and post a little update. Here's a photo of our house--anyone in the market for a 1940s bungalow with a backyard view of Central PA farmland?

O.K., that was fun. Be back soon.

Wow, it's been way too long . . .

Here's something I wrote yesterday to share at a meeting with the BIC bishops:

I was at a conference last week and suddenly I realized why I have often felt so drained over the last year or so, why I so desperately needed refreshment:

I am a religious insider.

In the three years that I’ve been out of college, I have worked in communications for three different Christian organizations, which means I’ve not only been responsible for handling the Word of God, but also the message of each organization I’ve worked for. I’ve been privy to a lot of “inside” information, and I’ve watched how leaders and followers alike conduct themselves.

It’s easy when you’re a religious insider to become callous toward other believers; to be hard of hearing when it comes to the still, small voice of God; and to read the most powerful portions of Scripture without being moved. And I have to say . . . that’s kind of where I’ve been.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with being a religious insider—it is a privilege, an awesome responsibility—but the problem is, when you’re making your living with the Gospel, any frustrations that you face, any apathy that develops as a result of your job will negatively impact your faith. Unless, that is, you’re careful.

And although it seems a little late in the game for me to be coming to this realization (after all, I am leaving in July), I do need to be careful to think of my job as a ministry, to be sure that I am refreshed enough by God and others to share and shape the wisdom that we publish in denominational communications. I need to be refreshed enough by God that when people at work disappoint me, I don’t become hardened against them as spiritual leaders. I need to be refreshed enough by God that the busyness, connectedness, and the celebrity that make up the lives of religious insiders—that I would count all these things as loss. Because without my faith in Christ, that’s exactly what they are.

I have come to the realization that, being a religious insider (as all of you are), I have an especially great need for God’s refreshing power. Because without it, I could not only be empty of wisdom to share with others; I could lose my faith altogether.

Confessions of a workaholic

Since I've been such a crappy blogger of late, I thought I'd post this little piece, which I recently wrote for my church's newsletter.

I was born with an underdeveloped sense of fun. As a kid, I was always the serious one, the nerdy one, the cautious one—the high-anxiety kid who was always quite sure there was something better to do than play and laugh. I always saw past the fun of frolicking in a sprinkler system, for instance, to its natural consequence: I might get muddy and wet.

My brothers, on the other hand, were first-rate frolickers. They made toys out of everything, and spent a good portion of their childhood laughing. As their overly serious older sister, I thought they were just wasting time. After all, I didn’t see grown-ups running around all day, wrestling and pretending they were cowboys.

And then I became a grown-up myself. My Anabaptist work ethic made it easy for me to succeed in college, and later, work situations. More than ever, fun and celebration seemed like an intrusion. If I was going to do something other than work—something I deemed “unproductive”—it should be a relaxing activity, something that would recharge my batteries for another day of work. But something was clearly missing: joy.

The Israelites don’t seem to share my problem with joy and celebration. Every time I read through the Old Testament, I’m surprised that such a creative and productive God would prescribe so many lengthy feasts and festivals. Surely God would not promote laziness and excess, I thought—but that’s exactly how these feasts seemed to me. Lots of people slacking off, eating gluttonous amounts, and . . . dancing? What a waste of time. What silliness! Besides, it’s not realistic for everyone to be celebrating at the same time; someone had to be working; otherwise, they would fall far behind on their tasks.

We modern-day North American Christians aren’t used to being told to rest, or feast, or celebrate. We set our own individual schedules, sleeping, eating, worshiping, and buying whenever it’s most convenient for us. But when the Israelites entered the Promised Land, God was surprisingly specific about how they ought to spend their time.

In Deuteronomy chapters 15­–16, God establishes a rhythm of sacrifice, mercy, worship, celebration, and feasting in the lives of this tiny nation. He tells them when to cancel debts, free servants, sacrifice animals, commemorate the exodus from Egypt, and celebrate the bounty of the harvest.

What really strikes me about this passage is that God doesn’t tell the Israelites when to work, how to work, or how efficiently they should work; rather, He tells them when to stop, when to rest, and when to celebrate. In His infinite wisdom, God knew humans’ penchant for workaholism, and He commanded His chosen people to make room in their busy lives to slow down, reflect on His provisions, and celebrate together.

Those are hard things for me to do. What if I don’t complete all the tasks on my to-do list? What if other people at work, at church, or in my family perceive my slowing-down and celebration as laziness? And perhaps, worst of all, will God still love me just as much if I’m not working or doing as much?

Yes, of course He will.

And if God loves me either way, my own and others’ opinion of my work ethic suddenly don’t seem so important anymore.

As I write this, I’m packing up for a little getaway to celebrate Mr. Incredible's and my fourth wedding anniversary. And while we need rest, and will probably do lots of reading, sleeping, and soaking in the jacuzzi, we’ll do our best to make this a time of actual celebration—to give thanks with joyful hearts for our lives together. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even splurge and do something really fun like snowshoeing or skiing. But we’ll see. I wouldn’t want to overdo it.

Catskills photo album

Catskills album>

The Pursuit of Happyness

Note: I'm posting this because I am feeling a little overly attached to this version of an article I wrote for Seek magazine. I've been asked to revise it significantly, which part of me realizes will improve it beyond all recognition, and part of me is just fixating on the fact that it will be changed beyond all recognition.

I really try to keep my attachment in check . . . but sometimes, I act just like a moody artist. I figured it would be somewhat consoling to know that the article was "getting out there" (at least, to the four people who read my blog), and that would help me feel a little bit better about starting over again. Without further ado, I give you a film review.

__________________________________________________

A picture of poverty
Recent film prompts discussion of homelessness

Chris Gardner met his father for the first time at the age of 28. He saw him only one other time: at his father’s funeral. So when he had a son of his own, he was determined to stay in Chris Jr.’s life—no matter what.

Starring Will Smith, the 2006 film “The Pursuit of Happyness” brings Gardner’s story to light. The movie chronicles this father’s struggle to provide for his son without his wife, without a steady job, and (many times) without a place to call home.

On an interpersonal level, “The Pursuit of Happyness” offers a beautiful example of a father’s commitment to his child, and of nurturing care in desperate circumstances. But it is also a detailed look at the economics of poverty.Gardner wasn’t always homeless. In fact, at the beginning of the film, he and his wife and son share an apartment with running water, electricity, and the basic comforts of late 20^th-century life in San Francisco. Always clean-shaven and respectably clad in a suit and tie, Gardner blends in with the middle class. But for him, as it is for so many people in our communities and in our churches, homelessness was only a paycheck away.

“The Pursuit of Happyness” is an important reminder that many of the people we see sleeping on park benches and dining at soup kitchens are not so different from us as we might think: they used to have jobs, homes, and families just like ours. No one can ever be 100 percent poverty-proof. Given the right circumstances, it could happen to anyone.

As portrayed in the film, Gardner’s pursuit of happiness was a fight for the right to work, to earn money to provide for his son. All he really wanted, all he struggled for, was a steady job that would enable him to have a permanent address, a place where his son could eat and sleep in safety—a home.

There are millions of people in our own neighborhoods and overseas who, like Gardner, are caught in poverty, without a place to sleep or the means to provide for their families. God’s love compels us to befriend, feed, clothe, and give shelter to all who need it. And when we do, Scripture reminds us, it’s all for Jesus.

We are worth so much more.

"Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said before, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more."

—Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

Feliz Navidad

The birthday girls . . . on ice

I'm 24 today. And Laura's 25.

And so we celebrated.

Celebration isn't something I feel I'm naturally good at. I have this Anabaptist work ethic that tends to keep me from celebratory actions--after all, there's always something "better" to do.

But is there? I don't know about that.

To mark our mid-twenties, the three of us went out for a lovely Italian meal (which I now have the task of bleaching out of my white shirt!) followed by some particularly graceful laps around the local ice rink. It was Mr. Incredible's first time on skates (which the rental guy assured him were razor-sharp!) and he did wonderfully, even making friends with another first-timer, who was about 7 years old, and kept him updated on her spectacular wipe-outs. Laura and I did our best to recall the mad skating skills we'd learned years before, in the process bruising our feet in places that we don't even know what they're called. (Is there such a thing as an ankula?)

We topped off the evening with fribbleccinos, and sundaes at Friendly's, and drove home, rocking out to Van Morrison in the Element. Good times.

It's been a weird year . . . so many changes. I guess I'm a grownup now--a career woman, too--and I'm not always sure what I think about that. But I am thankful for another year spent on this earth, learning more about God and the world around me in my bumbling way. Here's to more learning--and less bumbling--in the year to come.

The leaping hound

Enjoying my birthday gift!

Blogging the blues [part one]

Well, I have been a little blue for a couple of days, but that's not what I mean. To be really accurate about my moods, I guess I'd say I've been purple or orange or something with a little more aggression than blue. But that's not what I'm blogging about.

I'm about three years behind in this endeavor, but I'm finally reading Blue Like Jazz. Mr. Incredible reminds me that it's a collegey book (and I am sooo past that, right?) . . . but frankly I'm feeling like I might have skipped some of the developmental stages that the average Christian college student goes through, so I've got some things to catch up on.

First off, any non-fundamentalist who begins a book talking about the depravity of humankind is going to get my attention. That's just the way it is.*

The genius of Don's opening chapters--and indeed, his own experience of coming to faith--is that he identified a problem (human depravity, the broken state of things here on Earth), and it was working from this problem that he found a solution.

Some old Brethren in Christ people would probably be very pleasantly surprised by Don's talk about sin and depravity--the kinds of things, my boss mentioned recently, "that aren't preached anymore." Well, I don't know about that. The word "sin" is in little danger of going extinct at Dillsburg, but according to her this concept that we're fallen--that "what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing"--is falling out of favor with Evangelicals.

What really struck me as I read was that I've read so many people say they discovered God in nature--something I resonate with, as it's always been particularly easy for me to see Him in His creation--but I've never really heard anyone detail their natural discovery of coming to understand what sin and brokenness are by looking at the world around them. Don writes,

. . . I knew, because of my own feelings, there was something wrong with me, and I knew it wasn't only me. I knew it was everybody. It wasn't on the skin; it was on the soul. . . . It was as if we were broken, I thought, as if we were never supposed to feel these sticky emotions. It was as if we were cracked, couldn't love right, couldn't feel good things for very long without screwing it all up.

And if we don't realize this, what will God and His grace mean to us? If there is no question; no problem, there is no need for an answer; a solution.


*For all I know, Miller--no, I think I'll call him "Don" to match the casual tone of his book--might go on to completely undermine the foundation he's built in these opening chapters. But I'll just have to wait to find out.
**Edited for clarity 12.06.06 8:50 a.m.

Pies alegres

The best musical I've seen in years. But, of course, like all musicals, it has some serious character/story/continuity flaws. Nevertheless, as my brother-in-law says, "it's amusing."

If for no other reason, you really ought to see Happy Feet for the amigos. You'll know who I mean.

As for the flaws . . . I'm glad I'm not the only one who saw them.