chag yom yeshua

My aunt had a roll of Christmas wrapping paper with cats on it.

That's not very Christmasy- say you.

Oh, but wait. The cats wore santa hats.

And, underneath each snapshot of the varying cat varieties was written: meowy Christmas.

That cracks me up. Someone says Merry Christmas! I think, Meowy. Meowy Christmas. Sometimes I even say it out loud.

The Cats didn't make a cameo this year, although I seriously considered free-handing it on the wrapping of my dad's present (Mark Twain Autobiography. SO NEAT). Then I thought better of it- considering when I tried to draw a unicorn on the outside of a letter I recently sent to a friend, I managed to make the unicorn iodine deficient evidenced by a massive (unintentional) goiter on his magical unicorn neck.

Gross.

But it was a good Christmas. How could it be anything else? Kansas City with family. Excellent food. Card games. Spending the first few hours of the day sitting in the living room with everyone drinking coffee, talking, reading. Oh, is this heaven? Ok. I'll take it.

The first time my immediate family has been all together in 8 months. Come on people, let's not do this to each other again. Too long.

Meowy Christmas.

high school reunion- i shudder at the thought

I'm doing it again... doing that stalling thing (i just typed that stalin thing--- no. not obliterating peasant and jews in Russia).

I decided that I'm going to turn over a new leaf over this break. I'm trying to take myself seriously, truly I am! But I'm laughing at myself as I survey my room and see that nothing has really changed at all yet. My clothes are already strewn haphazardly around my room. My guitar is on my bed. The keyboard is next to my bed... I can barely bring myself to play it anymore. What a pitiful excuse for a piano.

But, the big game plan was to work out and then get real crafty this afternoon. Work on some spectacular christmas gifts for people that are precious to me. But thus far, I have a big fat $0 and I'm sort of praying for a miracle of a babysitting job to open up or for some horrifically wealthy stranger to knock on my door and say,

"Hello. Here's $10k to spend on Christmas presents for everyone that you know and love."

Dream Big, right?

I can still turn over this new leaf. I really haven't given up on myself yet. I'm about to go put on my boots and grab my ipod and head over to the park district workout facility... seriously hoping that it's not an impromptu high-school-reunion. I can see it now:

(cue chime and xylophone music)

Picture Rachel, sweating, heaving over the elliptical machine, cursing the SDR and Baccis for all that they've done to my physique, and in walks So-And-So.

"Wow. Rachel you look...."

Gross? Sweaty? Pale? Fatter than when you were 18?

"Ha.. [huff and puff, huff and puff] Thanks! You look..."

About the same too. Good, I don't feel so bad.

"So, what are you up to these days?"

"I go to Bible College."

"....cool. See you later."

Yeah, because everyone knows that us Bible College kids do mega proselytizing at the gym.

When we smell bad.

I highly doubt it would go that way. People are usually a little bit gracious when they see you at the gym, because they know that you're working out and can see that you're making genuine strides to maintain-- whatever. I'm rambling now.

I guess the part of this scenario that kills me is the response that I get when I say I go to Bible College. People making one million assumptions, usually beginning with- "Oh. She wants to be a nun! Or a Priest."

I don't want to become either. In case you're reading this and wondering the same thing.

But why do we become non-entities when people find out not only are we believers in Jesus, but especially when we are ordering our lives around getting to know Him better and that our careers will involve some kind of ministry.

I don't really understand it.

Off to the gym.

can you even button your pants still?

Submit.

It's sort of a strange word. Dictionary says it means to "accept or yield to a superior force or authority or will of another person" or "consent to undergo a certain treatment or process"

Maybe I should have read the dictionary before I prayed for a heart that would submit to the Lord. I mean, obviously, it's what I want to be doing. I really do want my heart to accept the authority of the Lord above all else. But what about undergoing the certain treatment or process? Did I really want to sign up for that too?

So funny how when we pray for growth in some area, the Lord always gives us opportunities to work it out. [How convenient.]

Clearly, from the dialogue that my heart has been having with the Lord today, no I do not want to submit to the process of sanctification. I think if I were actually submitting to the Lord I wouldn't be giving myself permission to be emotionally pounding away on my computer. Or I wouldn't be storming around my room frustrated that my pants don't fit unless I make a slipknot with a hair tie to pull them up like a pregnant lady (actually, very martha stewart of me if i do say so myself).

How can I give myself permission to act a certain (ahem, sinful) way if I am actually submitting to the Lord-- accepting his authority, sovereignty, sanctification as the canopy that I live under?

I think that's just it.

I can't.

No, Rachel. You may not start crying because you're not sure what you're feeling or why you're feeling it. No, Rachel. You do not have permission to blow of quiet time with the Lord because you are just desperate for some extra sleep. No, Rachel. You do not have permission to waste your time rather than spend it studying for finals or for something else that is remotely edifying.

Submit--- under the authority of a perfect gracious Heavenly Father whose discipline yields fruit much sweeter than the bramble patch that my permissive sinful thoughts and actions land me in.

the turkey was on fire!

We had a smorgasbord of people at our house for Thanksgiving. International couples, five small children, married couples, single ladies (ahem, me). It was great. But probably the best part was right before we sat down to eat. The children had gone through the line---

which, side note, it's still foreign to me to not be considered a child. So, let that be said when it comes time to recite the four questions at Passover. I don't go through the dinner line with my parents holding my hand. I don't stand up and sing Ma nishtana. That's how life works.

---and they were sitting innocently at the table gnawing on Turkey legs and other tasty nom noms that my Mom prepared. And all of a sudden a small voice cries out, "Fire! Fire!" My first thought: "Sweet! He's never seen a fireplace before." Luckily, we had some Moms and Dads on the scene to realize, rather logically, that the 9-year-old was holding a FLAMING paper Turkey centerpiece. I responded approximately 45 seconds too late with a towel and a cup of water.

My rationale: Never mind the fire extinguisher! I'm going to put this sucker out with a dish towel and 4 oz of water!

Into the fireplace went the flaming Gobbler.
Into the tummy went the food.

And there was plenty of reflection.

In our dining room, the windows face the street. I imagine that looking in at the tableux of family and turkey fare would be rather Norman Rockwell-esque. It struck me as I sat cozily between the 80 year old and the 9 year old that I was dang thankful to be on the inside and happy to report that the feeling was just as warm and delightful as it would appear from the street, because of Jesus' love.

There was a gentle gnawing that started on Tuesday night, that I haven't really let turn into much of anything just yet- I'd rather have not thought about it. But when we went around the table saying what we were thankful for, the same thing poked me in the little soft spot in my heart:

Why wasn't my salvation the the first conscious thankful thought in my head?

I got choked up talking about my parents and everything that they do, their marriage, their ministry, their parenting, their friendship (here I go again...) but then when someone mentioned Salvation and we all nodded enthusiastically, even in my whole hearted agreement, my eyes were drier than a matzoh ball soup from a south Florida deli.

Why doesn't this thankfulness, this eternal gratitude and indebtedness that I have not translate into water works?
I'm still pondering it. But I want it to be there.

This love is real.

revelation

You know what?

This might sound really shallow, but I think this makes sense.

You don't wear shoes you don't like, right? You don't style your hair so that you're embarrassed to go out in public, right? (Unless you're my sister ca. 2001-- "Perm"). You aren't going to be amped to go into work with a tattered brief case or man bag...

So, you're probably not motivated to bring your Bible out in public if it has some weird graphics of Jesus as a fair skin clean shaven man in a bed sheet ensemble on the front cover, nor will your fingers itch to leave through the pages of a book that you highlighted with 58 different colored jelly rolls when you were 12...

You're probably not eager to bust out that bible that you had doodled your crushes name on every blank page--- or strategically written on that page where it lets you list marriages, your name with that boy that took you to homecoming your freshman year.

just sayin.

Invest in a nice Bible. An attractive Bible. A Bible that will make the people in Starbucks wonder what that darling little book is that you're reading with the cool fabric on the front and the shiny gold edged pages...Get a Bible that you're excited to reach for off your shelf and tote around. One that's practical for traveling and having in your purse or "mag" (man bag) and then the five-pounder for when you're doing some major exegesis.


You can look at nice Bibles here.

Read your Bible.
All the cool kids are doin' it.

can you tell me how to get to sesame hood?

Sesame Street. You are classy. Always.

xanga throw back

Getting back to my blogging roots. Wrote this entry about 4 years ago. Excuse the malpracticed punctuation.

Saturday, October 07, 2006
Even though sleeping in an extra hour would have been sweet, I woke up and went for a walk.

It was gorgeous.

Like seriously... this morning made me like fall. And I told one of my friends that I hate the inbetween seasons becuase it's not like... a done deal. Things are changing, and we're saying goodbye to one phase of life, and getting ready to enter into another even if it's not the best... and I don't know.

I think we've already agreed that I'm not very good with change.

Let's take last year for example. Well. My grandparents moved in with us, exactly a year ago and I went into this crazy hibernation phase where I was out of the house as much as possible, having as little as possible communication with parents, and everytime I was actually home I'd come upstairs to my room and shut the door and listen to music all the time. I hated meal times, and I hated having to be with my family. In my sophomore mind (no wonder why sophomore means foolish) I thought everything that happended was a total invasion of privacy, and part of me seriously loathed my grandparents.

Sick, yeah? Well, that's what it was. It took almost a full year to get to the place where I've accepted my grandparents as a part of my life, but seriously.. change like that, completely alterred my personality. And for a while things were just not good inside of me.
The scariest part was, that after my grandparents moved in with me, I associated fall with some depression and a complete and full void in my life that I couldn't ever seem to fill. God felt distant, but at the same time I did very little to try to contact him.... and you know? Everything was like fjkdlajdfklajfklda. Just pounding down on the keys not making any words.

I feared fall.

But this morning changed it for me.

The leaves fell down around me while I was listening to some song by Jill Phillips, and well.. it all felt right. And I knew that these in between phases are not like THE big change. But more like the prologue to a new chapter... enticing, slightly profound,sometimes difficult...but just enough to pull you in to continue in the big story.

And so it begins...