- trip to the mall with my roommate
- take in the recycling
- buy a new nose stud (probably emerald in color)
- buy or make a mother's day card
- bake banana bread
- pizza supper
- rent a movie
- clothing shopping
- go to the bottle depot and return the bottles we've collected for money
- do something creative
- take a long bath with nice smelling stuff in the water and read a good novel
- do a bit of writing
- maybe head for the park (if it stays sunny - or possibly in the rain - a walk in the rain sounds fun)
- pick up a ring my best friend didn't have time to pick up yesterday
- book a haircut appointment
- sweep my bedroom
- sip tea
- light candles
- reorganize our kitchen cupboards (I keep buying doubles of food items because I can't see what I own)
- spend time hanging out with Jesus (in the park, or in my favorite chair, even at the mall buying a new nose jewel)
- read something that stretches my brain a little
Saturday, May 10, 2008
On the list...
Things I've got planned for today...
Friday, May 09, 2008
Interesting Link
The BBC has a special page dedicated to the 60th Anniversary of the establishment of the state of Israel, which occurred on Wednesday.
You can find some interesting articles on that page.
You can find some interesting articles on that page.
Can you drink the cup?
Another great thought from Henri Nouwen...
The Cup of Life
When the mother of James and John asks Jesus to give her sons a special place in his Kingdom, Jesus responds, "Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?" (Matthew 20:22). "Can we drink the cup?" is the most challenging and radical question we can ask ourselves. The cup is the cup of life, full of sorrows and joys. Can we hold our cups and claim them as our own? Can we lift our cups to offer blessings to others, and can we drink our cups to the bottom as cups that bring us salvation?
Keeping this question alive in us is one of the most demanding spiritual exercises we can practice.
The Cup of Life
When the mother of James and John asks Jesus to give her sons a special place in his Kingdom, Jesus responds, "Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?" (Matthew 20:22). "Can we drink the cup?" is the most challenging and radical question we can ask ourselves. The cup is the cup of life, full of sorrows and joys. Can we hold our cups and claim them as our own? Can we lift our cups to offer blessings to others, and can we drink our cups to the bottom as cups that bring us salvation?
Keeping this question alive in us is one of the most demanding spiritual exercises we can practice.
A Time to Laugh
I’m hanging out with my best friend tonight, and I can’t wait.
I love any time that we get to spend together. Right now especially, as sometime within the next couple of months, pending the arrival of a visa that’s been in process for the last 4 months, she will be leaving to spend a year or more in Pakistan, working in a small hospital for women and children, helping to deliver babies.
She’s the kind of friend who was totally willing to come with me to fill an awkward obligation tonight, but, when I called last night to let her know that I no longer needed to attend this particular event, and we could just hang out, was happy to admit that the event we’d planned to attend hadn’t been on the top of her list of fun things to do on a Friday.
Instead, we’re going out for Italian food. And then we’re going to see a girly movie together.
I feel like celebrating. Celebrating life. Celebrating our friendship. Celebrating the myriad of things we’ve walked through together these last three or four years that we’ve known each other.
We’ll sit and eat, and talk about all the important things. About her boyfriend (and the proposal of marriage she’ll likely receive sometime soon). About the things that have gone on in our weeks. We’ll share funny stories from our jobs (we both seem to collect them – me as a receptionist/admin assistant, and her as a nurse on a hospital unit that sees primarily older, slightly senile patients come through it’s doors). We’ll talk about travel plans, and the people and places we love. We’ll laugh and enjoy each other’s company with the easy familiarity of those who understand the heart of the person sitting across the table from them.
The heaviness of life lately makes evenings like this one a special treat. A time for joy and peace and rest. A time for laughter. Laughter is so important to me right now, and there are few people with whom I laugh. I could number the ones who bring laughter that penetrates all the way to my heart on one hand.
So tonight I’m going to celebrate a great friendship. I’m going to bask in joy and peace and love and laughter.
I love any time that we get to spend together. Right now especially, as sometime within the next couple of months, pending the arrival of a visa that’s been in process for the last 4 months, she will be leaving to spend a year or more in Pakistan, working in a small hospital for women and children, helping to deliver babies.
She’s the kind of friend who was totally willing to come with me to fill an awkward obligation tonight, but, when I called last night to let her know that I no longer needed to attend this particular event, and we could just hang out, was happy to admit that the event we’d planned to attend hadn’t been on the top of her list of fun things to do on a Friday.
Instead, we’re going out for Italian food. And then we’re going to see a girly movie together.
I feel like celebrating. Celebrating life. Celebrating our friendship. Celebrating the myriad of things we’ve walked through together these last three or four years that we’ve known each other.
We’ll sit and eat, and talk about all the important things. About her boyfriend (and the proposal of marriage she’ll likely receive sometime soon). About the things that have gone on in our weeks. We’ll share funny stories from our jobs (we both seem to collect them – me as a receptionist/admin assistant, and her as a nurse on a hospital unit that sees primarily older, slightly senile patients come through it’s doors). We’ll talk about travel plans, and the people and places we love. We’ll laugh and enjoy each other’s company with the easy familiarity of those who understand the heart of the person sitting across the table from them.
The heaviness of life lately makes evenings like this one a special treat. A time for joy and peace and rest. A time for laughter. Laughter is so important to me right now, and there are few people with whom I laugh. I could number the ones who bring laughter that penetrates all the way to my heart on one hand.
So tonight I’m going to celebrate a great friendship. I’m going to bask in joy and peace and love and laughter.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Reprieve - A Heart at Rest
Today has been a much needed reprieve. A quieting. A day where the joy that has been so hard to find could break through a little. A day for mischievous humor. A day for laughter. For Vietnamese food. For remembering who I am, and that I am loved, by God and by some very special people. For resting in all those things.
And so, I'm sitting here, in the chair in the corner of my bedroom. The spot where I come to sit and reflect. To read and pray.
Hillsong United's "The I Heart Revolution" is playing in the background. Worship recorded live all around the world, wrapping itself around my heart and drawing me into a space of prayer.
If you know me well, you could look at the space where I'm sitting right now and know that I'm in a much better heart space than I have been for most of this week. There are certain things that I do, certain signs in my physical space that indicate when my heart is quiet, and ready to meet with Jesus. Things like a tidied bedroom. Like candles lit all around my space. (There is almost always at least one candle burning in my bedroom, but when I light many it's for a different space.) Like a tall mug of tea waiting to be sipped. I do a lot of praying with my hands curled around a mug of tea.
I'm reflecting quietly tonight on a number of things. Spending some time simply sitting and listening. Spending some time talking with Jesus.
I was reading through some old emails this afternoon, and came across a link to a blog post titled "Dipping in Jordan" that my friend Kirk H. wrote just over a year ago. His words caught my heart and attention then, and they caught it again today. He speaks with great poignancy about healing (about freedom). He writes:
.... maybe true healing comes with less flash, less showmanship... maybe it comes in secret, after the praying is 'done' (though really it's never 'done').... maybe we wake up some day & go, "wow, I think I've experienced a miracle" & we wait for weeks to ensure there's no relapse & we don't shout it from the mountaintops 'cause we're really not sure what brought healing... but somewhere in our hearts, we hold on to the secret, the hope that it was a touch of the divine transforming our lives....
.... maybe healing seldom happens in the instant. Maybe it happens more over time. (Maybe I'm full of it & should stop trying to figure it out)....
... I feel a lot like Naaman, though... wanting healing, but wanting the big & flashy instead of wading into dirty old Jordan....
I love this idea of healing. Not the big and flashy (though sometimes, I too, like Naaman want it) but the gentle and simple. I've seen my own healing come in this manner. And I continue to pray that healing and freedom come in this way for my own heart and for the hearts of so many that I love.
This Sunday I'm teaching the passage in John 15 about the vine and the branches to my Sunday School girls. "Abide with me" one translation says. My heart is at rest tonight, learning again to abide in Him.
And so, I'm sitting here, in the chair in the corner of my bedroom. The spot where I come to sit and reflect. To read and pray.
Hillsong United's "The I Heart Revolution" is playing in the background. Worship recorded live all around the world, wrapping itself around my heart and drawing me into a space of prayer.
If you know me well, you could look at the space where I'm sitting right now and know that I'm in a much better heart space than I have been for most of this week. There are certain things that I do, certain signs in my physical space that indicate when my heart is quiet, and ready to meet with Jesus. Things like a tidied bedroom. Like candles lit all around my space. (There is almost always at least one candle burning in my bedroom, but when I light many it's for a different space.) Like a tall mug of tea waiting to be sipped. I do a lot of praying with my hands curled around a mug of tea.
I'm reflecting quietly tonight on a number of things. Spending some time simply sitting and listening. Spending some time talking with Jesus.
I was reading through some old emails this afternoon, and came across a link to a blog post titled "Dipping in Jordan" that my friend Kirk H. wrote just over a year ago. His words caught my heart and attention then, and they caught it again today. He speaks with great poignancy about healing (about freedom). He writes:
.... maybe true healing comes with less flash, less showmanship... maybe it comes in secret, after the praying is 'done' (though really it's never 'done').... maybe we wake up some day & go, "wow, I think I've experienced a miracle" & we wait for weeks to ensure there's no relapse & we don't shout it from the mountaintops 'cause we're really not sure what brought healing... but somewhere in our hearts, we hold on to the secret, the hope that it was a touch of the divine transforming our lives....
.... maybe healing seldom happens in the instant. Maybe it happens more over time. (Maybe I'm full of it & should stop trying to figure it out)....
... I feel a lot like Naaman, though... wanting healing, but wanting the big & flashy instead of wading into dirty old Jordan....
I love this idea of healing. Not the big and flashy (though sometimes, I too, like Naaman want it) but the gentle and simple. I've seen my own healing come in this manner. And I continue to pray that healing and freedom come in this way for my own heart and for the hearts of so many that I love.
This Sunday I'm teaching the passage in John 15 about the vine and the branches to my Sunday School girls. "Abide with me" one translation says. My heart is at rest tonight, learning again to abide in Him.
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