Quote of the day :)

She did not believe that she could ever stop hating Nicky and Lee, until her pastor told her that when God was going to do something wonderful, it started with something hard, and when God was going to do something exquisite, He or She started with an impossibility.

Anne Lamott, Blue Shoe

Making good choices.

I believe that I am the master of my own destiny, that I in fact can determine the course of my life merely by making decisions that point me in the perfect direction. This is flawed logic. See, I can't predict what will end well with 100% certainty. I can guess. I can use past experience. But I can't emphatically know what will make my life as awesome as possible.

Seriously, I don't even know why I keep trying. All it takes is one bad decision to royally fuck it all up anyway, as the protesters at Planned Parenthood remind me every morning on my way to work. Life is not a series of equally significant moments. Life is a series of benign, uninteresting moments, interspersed with crazy important ones that change the entire trajectory of one's life. Yet I continue to believe that I can be more powerful than I am, that I can predict the future, and thus completely avoid pain. And it is these times, when I have set everything up in such a way that absolutely nothing can go wrong, that everything goes wrong, and I am painfully reminded of how small and helpless I am in the face of an infinite universe and unpredictable people.

So I eat more chocolate chip cookies, because I predict that they will be good, and then they are, in fact, very good. Nothing else matters. I have control over nothing else.

I love presents!

I'm not much of a holiday gift giver. Yes, I may give you something for your birthday or for Christmas if it's already in my stash, but mostly I'm an everyday gift giver. I love giving presents so freakin' much - sometimes I can't stand it. I get giddy and smiley and I am so excited until the moment. Today I found the greatest thing, and I'm testing it out right now, and I'm dying to text the person to tell them that I got them an amazing present and I don't know how long I'll be able to wait to give it to them (no, it's not for you, or you, or you).

I don't think I really came into my own as a gift-giver until adulthood. I mean, I've always had the skill, the unusual talent, but I don't think that I appreciated how awesome it was, or realized how awesome it might be for other people until I'd reached my early twenties. I went through a period of time of giving lots of money away secretively. That was fun, and maybe too extravagant for that time in my life, but I did it. I gave lots of money to various ministries I supported and causes I believed in. Sometimes I gave because I felt like I had to (i.e. "God loves a cheerful giver"), but over time, I've stopped giving for that reason.

I was taught to tithe to the church, and I struggle with that. I thought that God would give me everything I needed, and then I would tithe out of that. But when I started to not have enough, I stopped giving to the church. Maybe my financial dire straights (not really dire, just full of debt) are due to this, to my lack of faith. But then I think back to all the times I gave so much to people in need, out of my own abundance, and wish that I could somehow receive that back in kind. Money is funny. That's all I'll say.

I might last another 24 hours. This thing is so perfect, I can't stand it.

Faith is a fact.

I have a friend in another country who goes to church every day after work, sits in a silent old church in some old European country, and contemplates God or something especially cool. It seemed extreme to me when I first heard it, but I understand so much more now. We need ritual in our lives, sameness, things that do not change. This ritualizing of behaviors creates solidity in our souls, plants us into the ground, makes us feel safe in our own skin. Weird and definitely spiritual, but true. Take it or leave it.

In the wake of school shootings and marathon bombings, I hear stories of people reaching out in new and different ways. Today, while driving the freeway in between meetings across town from one another, I wondered if people are looking for God somehow in this reaching-out, and I thought about lighting a candle. I have another friend who lights candles regularly, also an awesome person. I so appreciate that she has created some kind of place for that. I don't think I have the room. Maybe I could put a shelf up or something.

Who knew I'd become more Catholic as I got older. It's strange and wonderful, and I'm glad my faith allows me to change over time, to go in and out of faith phases, just as I move in and out of food phases. I am still going to the panaderia every morning, and tonight I realized after my evening walk down the boulevard, that I could not go the rest of the day without eating ice cream.

So yeah, phases are good. Or okay, at least. Also ritual is good. I don't know if they are connected. Whatever. I won't figure everything out before I die, but I might figure out some things. Hopefully bread/ice cream phase won't put me in the grave sooner over later.

Pat Robertson on thrift.

Saint Mark the Evangelist - Felt and plastic printing plate

So Pat Robertson, the ever exciting host of The 700 Club, has joined the thrifting world by encouraging the rebuking of evil spirits from all secondhand sweaters. I can only imagine what horrors I've unknowingly brought home in my hundreds of thrift encounters.

I must leave, and cleanse my home. Peace out :)

"This is my confession..."

Well, just like Usher said in that far-off, how-does-time-go-by-so-fast, year of 2004, this is my confession: I hate debt. I hate it so much. I was raised by a freakin' refugee, people. No wonder I'm so neurotic about money.

I almost didn't finish graduate school because I realized how much it was going to cost me. It felt wrong. It felt unethical. But I got a good talking-to by my parents, and recognized that money is money, and an education is priceless, and my earning potential, blah, blah, blah. I bought into it. And now I have a masters degree and I still live in a garage. Now I could probably live in a larger garage if I weren't working so hard to pay off my debt, but I really don't make that much money. I am, after all, working two jobs.

I'm figuring that it's going to take me a good five years to get out of this hole, and those are five impoverished years. Let's remember that I don't even eat meat. Frugal is my middle name. Oh the injustice of it all! But I digress. I had a freak-out today (this was earlier; obviously now I can form whole sentences), wherein I screamed at the heavens in the presence of a safe person, that life isn't fair, and sugar daddies, and selling my soul, and why-can't-the-world-not-suck-so-much. It's occasionally difficult to accept the lot of a sacrificial person, a supposedly voluntary sacrificial person. I mean, even the Apostle Paul had plenty! If or when that ever happens to me, I won't know what to do with it.

But in the meantime, I will continue to be my thrifty self, shop at discard food places (shut up haters), and recycle like nobody's business.

Peace out.

I guess it's 9/11.

I work with people who are hurting, and oftentimes within that hurt are questions of forgiveness. What is forgiveness? How does a person forgive? What does forgiveness mean? And I never answer those questions for another person, because those are deep questions about faith and belief, and it's incredibly important for a person to be able to make decisions about forgiveness autonomously, without the interests of other people getting in the way.

Larger issues of peace are incredibly complex. Forgiveness and peace may be inextricably linked, but how one goes about finding peace is also a deeply personal issue. Sometimes we get very sidetracked with blame, and wanting answers. Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes life sucks and we just have to keep going.

In Bikram last night, the teacher (or supreme yogi, or whatever they're called) reminded us that Bikram helps us to find stillness, or forces us to be still. All I know is that at the end of the class, I want to jump up and run out the door. I want the hot to go away. I want to breathe cool air. But I heed those words (because what am I there for if I don't listen?), and I lie as still as I can, for as long as I can (probably less than the recommended three minutes), before I hurry to test my sugar and get some fresher air.

When I lived in the jungle, I had few moments of cool crisp air to breathe. When I came off the plane, I thought I would die. It felt like an oven (it was the equator, after all). And my body suffered in the heat, and my soul suffered with loneliness, but I survived. Sometimes all we can do is survive, and hope that God really is there and real, or else none of it means anything anyway and there is no point.

So breathe the hot air, because it's all you have. Be mad if you want, because it won't make the hot air go away. I like to be mad at God. God can handle it.