I'm sitting at a coffee shop in downtown Manhattan Beach.  I had a tough therapy session that's sat heavy with me since yesterday, and I'm guessing will sit heavy with me for awhile.  Friends and dancing were a thoughtful distraction last night, but I still came home to "me" once the constume party was over.  And woke heavy to "me" upon rising.  So I decided to head west.  The ocean is always a soothing comfort, and I'm all about finding the soothe and comfort today.  My studies are spread across the table and the ocean waves about 1/4 mile away.  But "me" is still waving louder.

A gentleman in his late fifties, I'd say, asked if he could share my table.  His practically transluscent black skin spoke with a gentle voice that invited conversation.  But I wasn't about to accept.  I'm in a bad mood, and don't feel like talking.  So I told him he could certainly share the table, but that was it.  That's all I wanted to give.  He complied and quietly sat down across the table.  I thought our interaction was complete.

But about 15 minutes later, I raised my eyes from my oh-so-important Theo III assignment and saw that he was reading the Bible.  With a sunken stomach, I realized it wasn't by mistake he'd entered my presence, but it was by mistake that I'd so quickly dismissed him.  The man's peaceful demeanor is so appealing to me right now, and yet I don't even know what to say...  How is it that my inners know this man is a God-send to my weary soul, and yet my outers are scared to act on it? 

What would it look like to really believe I was part of a Body...to know this man was my brother...to know we would share aspects of this table from here to eternity?  What it would look like to engage with this part of me, sitting across the table? 

We've got a problem.  Not questioning God, (that would be a good thing), but how God exists in a given realm of the Church...How Christianity is handling herself in a given sector of culture?  The following Newsweek article seeks one of the most basic (and profound) questions I've been trained to ask as a Spiritual Director (helps discern God's movements in another's life...I'm biased, but think everyone should have one for most seasons of their life!).  Although it might not do us as well to visit the Olsteen's church, it would do us well to ponder how God is at work in our stories today.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/163475

Many have been asking about the books I'm working on, so I figured it was fair enough to start whetting pallats by sharing bits of their ends.  The first release will be a solo project titled: My Single Story and plans to release sometime next year.  Here's its table of contents:

My seminary friend Megen and I were talking yesterday about the kind of church we'll attend when we grow-up. 

We decided a place of community and being able to serve were key.  "But what about the teaching?  Surely that has loads to do with the health of a church, right?"  To which we decided if you base your church experience (let alone God experience) on the hermenutics (Bible interpretation) of another, you're gonna fall short.  And frustrated sooner or later.  The hope then, we decided, was to be alongside a pastor who knew his role in sheparding the flock, but also knew his role as one of the flock.  In other words, church isn't meant to be hierarchical.  Church is meant to be a community of people, serving the community of themselves, and their neighbor, under the headship of the Trinity.  Part of that clearly entails reading the Scriptures aloud and alone and together, but in terms of the precise interpretation and exact representation of what God meant puts faaar too much clout, let alone pressure, on the shoulders of Pastor John Doe (no wonder they're usually stressed-out, stuck-up, or want nothing to do with actually talking to parishiners.  So anway, random theological post here, but finding community and a place to serve really do seem like two fair and viable tenants of a healthy church, as well as leaders willing to read the Word of God alone and aloud (and certainly to the best of their interpretive ability) and trust that the Spirit is ample enough to take it from there. 

Rant complete.

I was falling asleep last night and realized I hadn't written in awhile--at least for no good reason.  It had slipped my mind.  I guess because of "work."  I've been working a lot, on good stuff, but it's work, nonetheless.  I've been researching, reading and writing for a new book project.  So much so that I rarely pick my head from its contents and certainly haven't given myself the space to write "freely" in weeks, or "journaled" in months, lest it was in some fashion related to something of the book.  But when last night's realization collided with a homework assignment (oh yeah, school has taken quite the back-burner, too) asking "how I've been practiceing Sabbath," I realized I wanted to stop.  Stop working..for ten minutes, even...and just write.   Just play with words and paddle around ideas on this blank canvas.  No good reason; no rightful aim.  Just language.  And space.  And my heart.  Colliding.  To rest.  To be with God.  To check-in with myself.  To practice a heart-set of rest this Thursday afternoon.

I hate how quickly work trumps our hearts.  How working pulls layers over our interactions with love. 

And yet I love how quickly God can trump these hates.  And pull those layers back, via daydreams in bed, or even work-related assignments.  Even "in work," He seems to say, I want to be with you.  Just pick-up your head, or maybe bow it down.  For a second.  For a subtle twist of your framework.  For a sabbath.

Lord, give us the courage enough to pause, and the strength enough to be still.  I think for me it's usually a trust issue, wondering whether or not Your will will happen without Me (so that sounds like a pride issue, too).  Oh, Father, please help me, and us, be childish enough to believe you today, and wise enough know You're at work, even (and maybe even more) when we give ourselves to rest.

Amen.

Two of my friends are in Kabo this week, celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary.  And I was given the celebratory privilege of caring for their kids.  Emily is four and Will is three years and ten days.  Both gems. 

The alarm screamed early this morning, as I had to make it to Theo class by 8am.  I hustled my way to readiness, before heading into the kiddo's chamber to harken their arise.  Will was a bit slower to the idea, but Emily streched her top-bunk arms and said, "Okay, Abbie, I'm all set for the day!" 

"Really," I inquired, "how's that, Em?" 

"Well, God just said so in my last dream.  At first I lost my lunch box, but then later I found it.  And then there was a monster outside and daddy came and beat him up," at which point her tangled hair and brown eyes smiled at me and said, "And then God said I was all set for Monday."

And then I said, "I think you must be right." 

All my un-set-ed-ness for today has stayed vanished ever since. 

http://www.wrf.ca/comment/email/template/09.19.08.html

On different notes, a) I have friends in town this weekend and when Laura asked if she could get away with flip-flops to the wedding tomorrow, I realized I'm not sure anything isn't suitable attire in this town.  Meaning flip-flops and stillettos get away with events asking "formal attire."  b) I met with my new spiritual director today, who's a 76-year-old Irish nun.  And in short, not your typical evanglical.  Should be fun.

Have a great weekend!

So I'm at the Palos Verdes Library, because my computer got taken-away by the Apple Store this morning (just for a week, or so, I hope).  Therefore, I don't have much time (they give you 60 minutes, and I spent the first four checking email and facebook, so am down to 56...uppp...55).  That said, pardon my lacking conclusions and/or edits here.  But interesting thoughts brewing that I at least wanted to get out of my noggin.

I'll start with the Apple Store story.  So it was a bummer that I had to bring my computer in there 2 days ago for plug issues, and even more of a bummer that it bonked while they were messing with it.  Hence the Friday morning visit to the computer doctors.  Again.  Anywho, the more fun, or intersting, or confusing part of the tale, was that my appointment was at 8:20am, meaning before Brea Mall (where the Apple store locates itself) is open.  So a) it took me about 20 minutes to figure out how to break into the mall (before realizing they do, in fact, leave one cooridor/door open...which was of course on the other side of my Macy's parking spot), and b) it was wierd to be in the mall without other shoppers.  Since coming back from Uganda last summer, among other things, I've never been too savy with crowds.  I used to have panic attack and turn into a nutzo, and now I just get a little wobbly inside.  Either way though, try not to frequent crowds or rambunctious activity too often.  What was wierd about this morning, however, was that I visited the mall and even walked around a bit, why Apple was looking at my Apple, and had little to no anxiety.  Noticeably so.  Part of that may be pure growth on my part, but I think the bigger part is that as much as we criticize and blame "the mall" or consumerism for its rampant attacks on our wallets and well-being, I realized this morning that there's something to say for 'our' role in those attacks.  In other words, I think it takes two to tango, consumerism included.  Something about the lack of hustle and bustle and hoards of talking people around me made a morning stoll in the mall quite enjoyable, in fact (and I'm the one to typically say so).  So that's all I've got there...nothing terribly insightful, just an interesting observation about malls not being terribly vicious organisms, in and of themselves. 

So after leaving Apple, and en route to therapy, where my therapist never showed-up, I had to stop by the post office to send my sister's birthday gift.  The gal at the counter was named "Pervin."  Now when I say that name, it sounds quite horrific, like some car part, or ancient haunted house.  But when she says it, her Iranian accent gives it this lovely mix of romance and story.  Pervin was wearing a unique ring on her left ring finger, to which I of course commented, "Wow, what a remarkable turquoise stone and diamond.  You have one creative husband!"  "Oh my dear," sometimes I wish this was from a husband.  But truth be told, I bought it for myself.  I was divorced ten years ago and am now scared of going out with a guy, let alone allowing him the gift of decorating my ring finger!"  I guess post-people don't get a terrible amount of intimate talk time, which made me eager to hear out Pervin's next five minutes of downloading on love, life and relationships.  She rarely even looked me in the eye, but spoke with the confidence and cavalier of being interviewed for a talk show.  (You'd think this would only happen when there were no people lined-up behind me...oh, but there were.  Pervin was on a mission though, and P.O.'ed people weren't gonna stop her dialogue on life's meanings and mysteries.  She told me I should only, "go out with guys one day a week, adn if they want more, stop talking to them.  And then she said the best place to meet nice men was church."  I smiled and told her good, cause I tend to hang around that crowd on occassion.  And then she told me, "marriage is great for people who want to "make babies."  But if you're like her, (and don't want to make babies), just take the drinks and friendship and leave the marital stuff for other folks."  As I left her counter, I thanked her for the unexpected post-office wisdom.  She leaned-in and said, I really don't know you, but listen here, keep with your God stuff and you can't go wrong...I wish I'd started into that path many decades ago."  I smiled, wanting about 2 more hours to tease out this last sentence from/with her, but there were snickering folks behind me.   

Okay, I'm down to 35 minutes on "remaining screen" and have a load of emails to return.

Hope you're well.

PEACE