Fivel moves into Suite High Life

So, the mice have become bolder...

Tonight, we had a party with many guests, and the poor little bleepity bleeps decided they wanted to come too. All four of them, Rasputin, Trojan, Anastasia, plus some Fivel as a party guest.

So they came out to play. In the midst of the party. Never ye mind that there were people all around. No no, they apparently are claiming squatters rights.

Irate, I decided to reset a trap for them, fully laden with delicious peanut butter. So tightly sprung that I almost lost a finger in the process of setting it. Literally.

Now, party guests all gone, I am sitting here, watching Anastasia, the smallest cutest most delicate of the four, eat the peanut butter OFF OF THE FREAKING TRAP without springing it while I'm sitting less than 4 feet away.

Cheeky little bastards.

It seems that our first alternative, the humane and rapid system of mouse decapitation, might need to be replaced by another system.

On a side note, my roommates and I decided that if we do decide to go the feline route of mouse-control, we will most likely name the cat Gus Gus, just for the irony of it all. No sweaters or cute booties will be provided to either mice or cats.

Lessons from the wreckage

Sometimes things don't go the way we plan...

It all began as a simple trip to Ikea...
I picked up a super-flowered comforter...
slightly more frou-frou than I typically like...
Success!

And then, in an instant, colored by abruptly flashing red tail-lights,
squealing tires and the sickening crunch of glass and metal,
all things came to a screeching halt. Literally and figuratively.

The full story is not necessarily important, suffice to say, everyone is okay, no injuries, but the cars were, in the words of the police man, "uniquely redesigned." Shall we say that my compact car became "more compact"? It's trying to morph into its inner hot-rod...

But in those few earth-shattering moments, I think I realized a few things:

• When life turns into chaos, all you can think about is the small details like what speed you were going, what the name of the tunnel was, a random thought you'd had earlier in the day, the name of the policeman, your now-certain-to-be-failed car inspection.
• At the same time, you realize how completely unimportant those details are... but it's all you can think about.
  
• Sometimes our split second impulses are surprising (who you call, how you react, what your immediate thought is, your ability to stay calm in the moment, etc)...
• Often times our disasters feel like other people's spectacles and that is not a good feeling
• There are so many things to be grateful for... and the little things that seemed so significant earlier in the day, are now minute in comparison...

Earlier in the day, I had texted my sister, after my leaving my routine doctors appointment. Any time I go to the doctor, we have to go through family medical history, which is long and contains many diseases, maladies and quirks, things that make my super bouncy doctor frown and furrow her brow. I had jokingly texted my sister earlier in the day, "You know, after repeating our family medical history, at times, I'm really surprised that I'm still alive!"

Now, at the end of the day, all I can say is... yes, on two accounts now, life is a gift, not an expectation. And I am very glad to be alive. May that gratitude continue, even after the shock of the accident becomes ancient history...

Don't get me wrong... this is not, in the cliche phrase, an entreaty to "live every moment as if it were your last." That's ridiculous. Then you always live in light of the pending end, rather than in gratitude for the life that you have now. It is, rather, an entreaty to be grateful for the fact that you're alive. And to live life in that gratitude. At the end of the day, the acne, the stressful details of work, the cable not working, the traffic delay, the mice running through your apartment fat-fed on the peanut butter from your non-working traps... at the end of the day, those are details which fall mundane and to the side. At the end of the day, it's good to be alive.

May that gratitude continue, even after the shock of the accident becomes ancient history...

Fix-it Culture

A few weeks ago, I overheard snippets of a beautiful husband-wife conversation. It's stuck with me, even now, weeks later, as such a beautiful picture of what it looks like to love one another well... so I wanted to share it with you:

One of the two was very stressed out, trying to figure out the details for something happening later in the day. They were also deeply concerned about how other people would respond and perceive what they were going to be leading...

The other partner listened well, and affirmed the first's gifts and calling to speak and act, empathized with their struggle, and then said,

"Honey, I love you, but you don't need to be listening to what other people are saying about this. Nor do you need to be talking to me about it and listening to what I have to say. I think you need to take it to Jesus, and ask him, not me or anyone else."

See, I think our instant tendency is to try and solve our friends', our boyfriend/girlfriend's, our spouses', our students', our children's problems. We're a fix-it culture...

But I think the reason that this interchange was so beautiful to me is because it wasn't used as a cop out to neglect engaging... it wasn't an excuse because the spouse didn't have an opinion or know what to say... it was legitimately a redirect from trying to be the answer for the other person to standing alongside them and pointing them to the one who has the answers...

I wonder how our relationships, our ministries, our friendships, our families would change, if we practiced this more often?

"... I think you need to take it to Jesus and I will stand alongside you as you do."

Public enemy #1

So, the news of the day is:

It's official! We have mice... cute, small, gray, fuzzy ones... and apparently quite a few of them! Word on the streets is that living above a restaurant often leads to an invasion of these species.

Last night, as I was preparing to go to bed, one of the brazen little bleepity bleeps decided that it would be great fun to complete an Olympic sprint across my feet. Not past them, not close to them, across them. I screamed like a little girl. And then he turned around and audaciously made eye contact with me, as if to say, "What? You're displeased? You don't think I should be here? Catch me if you can."

Game on, Rasputin, game on. Those are fighting words and your mom's a hairy rodent. This means war.

Public enemy number #1 has been named: Rasputin, you must die. Pretty sure Anastasia and Trojan are running around somewhere there too, but so far they've been a bit more shy.

Now, the question is... quick and messy (traps) or savory and slow (borrowing a cat).

Either way, the epic battle of mice and men has begun...

I am not a Prostitute

So Wednesday was a fun day for me.

I sat down with two of my supervisors, in two separate meetings, both of which involved me getting snotty-nosed and drippy, as they called me into deeper places and point-blank called out some areas in which my understanding of myself, of God and of God's relationship to me was fundamentally as nutty as a fat squirrel in autumn. Without going into too much detail, here's the basic gist of my broken understanding:

I do not think that I am intrinsically a delight to God or to other people. I think I am prized and valued and of worth for what I can do, rather than for who I am.

It's the difference between being a prostitute or a lover. A wife or a concubine.

One is loved and valued for who she is, for her relationship with her spouse or lover, her character, her personality, her strengths and weaknesses, through good times and bad.

The other is loved and valued for the commodity that she provides. She is dispensable. She is replaceable. And her worth is largely determined on how good she is at her role.

And, all too often, I live as though I am a prostitute rather than lover, both in relationship to God and in relationship to others...

• valued for what I can do, what I can provide, how I can care well for the needs of the other, rather than for who I truly am
• disposable and replaceable
• weakness is right out, vulnerability close behind it, because those are places in which you expose yourself as incapable, inept, and under-qualified (by proxy, undeserving and undesirable). If I am to be weak or vulnerable, it needs to be well-processed, and neatly packaged.

It's false. It's broken. And I know that. But that is the place that I always seem to return to...

In the words of my friend Carolyn, I've hit my wall again.

But it feels like God is saying, "No more. This wall is not the stopping point..."

A few months ago, my friend Daniel prayed Isaiah 62 over me, and I feel like these words really resonate for me at this point in time (moreso than they did when he prayed them) (vs 2,4,12):

The nations will see your righteousness, and all kings your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will bestow...

No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah (my delight is in her) and your land Beulah (married); for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married...

They will be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD; and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted..."

God seems to be saying to me:

• I long to give you a new name, a true name.
• I have called you daughter and delight; stop living as though you were a harlot.
• I call you my bride, married to me; stop returning to the harem as if you were a concubine.

At the end of the day, I am not a prostitute.

Jesus' invitation to me is to allow him to be my lover, to radically pursue me, to delight in me, for whom I am, rather than what I can do. And that makes me really uncomfortable because it feels so... intimate... so foreign... so inconceivable... but I think that's his invitation.

That's why he calls me Beloved. Delight.

Now I just need to learn how to live in that place, rather than return to the harem.

Scarcity in Generosity

As a preface, generosity is not my strong suit or natural reaction, but it's something that God has been challenging me to grow in... to give when I'm asked and able (and when appropriate!), to not consider money something of "my own, my precious" but to develop a heart of generosity...

Yesterday, like many recent days, I found myself running from meeting to meeting. Leaving campus, transit included, I had about 15 minutes to spare before heading to small group, so I walked through the Boston Common, enjoying the beautiful almost-fall weather and made a quick stop in a Dunkin Donuts to grab a cup of coffee as my dinner substitute.

As is typical for the Boston Common, I ran into many homeless men and women along my way, most of whom asked for any spare change that I might have. As I entered Dunkin Donuts, there was a woman sitting right by the door, who also asked for my spare change. As I rarely carry any cash or change, I typically don't have anything tangible to offer [and I have mixed feeling about giving money on the street], but as I was already going into the DD, I said, "I don't have any cash, but can I buy you a cup of coffee?" to which the woman readily assented.

As I was waiting in line, the woman came into the DD and asked, boldly, if she could have a sandwich as well. She wasn't pushy or demanding, just boldly asking...

And I, in all my moment of generosity, have to confess that my gut reaction [all internal, in the span of about 10 seconds] wasn't particularly holy, and in the spirit of vulnerability and honesty, I wanted to share some of that with you:

... "I'm already being generous. How dare she ask for more!"

... "Well, from the looks of it, she's not starving by a long shot; why is she asking for more?"

... "Doesn't she realize that I'm only buying coffee for myself because I can't afford to buy dinner out; my budget is already tight this month... I raise support for crying out loud! I don't have that much to begin with!"

See, I think, at least for me, there is a scarcity to my generosity. It has to be on my terms. It has to be my way. And it's all about someone being "worthy" to receive the tremendous gift of my altruistic kindness.

And last night, I feel like God said "no."

... it's not about her "worthiness"
... it's not about her "need"
... it's not about her gratitude or reception of your gift or what she does with it.

Instead, he said, "It's about your heart. And right now, you are scandalously begrudging in your generosity. And this is not about her. This is about you."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating that we should dole out cash to every panhandler or giving to every scam that asks- I don't know that that's actually beneficial to anyone and I do think we are called to be wise with our resources.

But I am saying, I think often times, the invitation to generosity has more to do with us and the attitudes of our hearts, rather than the worthiness or legitimate need of the receiver. Giving, or generosity, represents a posture in which we recognize that our resources are not our own. It is recognizing that we likewise have received generosity that was not merited.

• It is a posture of gratitude, not begrudging.
• It recognizes that the resources we have are not our own.
• It is a heart attitude that has less to do with worthiness of the person, and more to do with worship of the God who has given us everything, and with whom there is no scarcity.

I bought her the sandwich. But I think it was I who gained far more...

... returning to real life

As InterVarsity staff, you know it's the beginning of the school year when...

• you haven't seen your roommates in multiple days, and they begin to wonder whether you actually exist anymore or if they should try to sublet your room.
• you have nightmares/dreams about hundreds of people coming up to you excited about getting involved with an event, but you can't remember what that event is, you can't remember any of their names, and you are pretty sure that you've forgotten to plan said event.
• you eat a twinkie and cheese doodles for dinner and get super excited (a) to have time to eat something and (b) that you get to eat a twinkie again.
• your number of facebook friends doubles.
• you area already a coffee addict, but you yourself note that your coffee intake has significantly increased.
• a common phrase for you is "oh man! i forgot about..."
• you have explained multiple times in the last week, "no, I'm not a student, I graduated a few years ago..."
• you've worked more hours in the last two weeks than you've slept.
• you've probably lost your voice at least once, as a result of talking so much to so many people.
• the Walmart/Costco/Kmart candy aisle people know you by name.
  
• you've met hundreds of really awesome new and returning college students, and are really hyped up to see what God wants to do during this school year!

Good times! Really. One of my favorite times of year, even though it's one of the craziest times of the year! And now, new student outreach (NSO) is drawing to a close, so I am preparing to return to real life, sleeping, breathing, eating things other than twinkies, having conversations about things other than InterVarsity... glad this season is almost done, but at the same time, wouldn't trade it for the world, and looking forward to doing it again next year! :-)

I'm still alive...

The freshmen are here...

Enter the chaos of New Student Outreach and the beginning of the school year...

[So exciting!]
[So busy!]
[So exciting!]

More to follow...