Mushy bananas on rainy days equals banana bread

So, we're supposed to "Give Thanks" all the time--more than a hashtag, but still publicly. We do so in church, in some sense, but some people aren't really singers. I think I need an ongoing thankful list to roll through as the days go racing by, the storm clouds pour, and still the sun beats down on the crazy ride. The storms are real, the pain and darkness ever more evident, as is the light and the yearning for it.

Thankful/Agradecida more than ever for the hope and sovereignty of God. For happiness that is more of a satisfying joy that bubbles over with those little gifts because the deep-seated peace is there and more real than a heartbeat.

vulnerability and prayer 

Sharing meals

Somali friends

picnic and parade

henna

hearty laughter

hammocks

new homes for folks

visits from friends from afar

running and sharing life 

lakes, water, MN

epsom salts

difficult questions

safety and protection of different kinds

mini check-ins/conversations

paddle boards

hellos and head nods from people

literacy and reading of all sorts

God's word and his promises

memorials and testimonies to perseverance 

fruit and yogurt

provision

cops and catering

sleep when it comes

markets and vegetables

communication

HOPE

consistency and trust

Healing

good coffee

Quinceañera and who it represents

new days

TreeHouse

hats and headbands

music!

Tragedy, Hope, and a Honey-Lavender Latte

Some will understand more than others. This morning, I self-medicated with dry shampoo and a lavender honey almond milk latte. 

I pulled myself out of bed early with the birdies after a thoroughly tiring day of travel and mourning to drive to a meeting with church folk. Waking up, I saw news of more tragedy and injustice. Soul sank a bit more. Still, I groggily made my way around the house and eventually out the door. Upon arrival at Perkins, I was pleased to find that I was just barely early, and chagrined to realize that with travel plans and whatnot, I had the dates entirely wrong. The early morning meeting was yesterday. I really should have stayed in bed for an extra hour. or three. Hooray.

Options started to flit through my brain. How about visiting Grandma? She was barely getting up by then, and early morning routine is not a good time to interrupt. Head home and get going on the forever long and foreboding to-do-list? Crank out run 1 of 2 today? I thought of some other things, too. Impressive, I know, especially since they all received a mental “Nah.” Just keep driving. Light-bulb! I love the grocery store. I’ll stop by the grocery store and pick up a couple of things that had been on my other lengthy list. Not open yet. Drive some more. I’d love to stop by my Aunt’s place, but know they’re not in town. 

I found myself, as I often do, driving around the curvy shores of the lakes, pouring my heart out in song, in hopes of making some mini protest against the dark and proclaiming truth. Who hears you? 

Craving presence, still, I finally stopped, grabbed my little decorated Bible, scrambled across the street and moseyed down to the bench, still wet from last night’s rain. I stopped and glanced at the handful of runners making their way around the lake, and I opened to the Psalms. Earlier, I had read of Nebuchadnezzar's disastrous downfall and our own tendencies to build sandcastles in hopes of grandiosity, and I needed a bit more perspective. Here are snippets of Psalm 135 that I read, tuning out the pat-thud of runners' feet, the lapping of the water at the shore, the airplanes overhead and cars passing behind, letting eyes well up with hot tears, and tuning-in to the sun peaking through the clouds and the promise of hope that does not disappoint:

Praise the Lord, for the Lord is good; sing to his name, for it is pleasant! 

For I know that the Lord is great, and that our Lord is above all gods. 

Whatever the Lord pleases, he does, in heaven and on earth, in the seas and all deeps. 

He it is who makes the clouds rise at the ends of the earth, who makes lightnings for the rain and brings forth the wind from his storehouses. 

He it was who struck down the firstborn of Egypt, who sent signs and wonders, who struck down many nations.

Your name, O Lord, endures forever, your renown, O Lord, throughout all ages. For the Lord will vindicate his people and have compassion on his servants. 

The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths, but do not speak; they have eyes, but do not see; they have ears, but do not hear, nor is there any breath in their mouths. those who make them become like them, so do all who trust in them! 

O house of Israel, bless the Lord! You who fear the Lord, bless the Lord! 

Pray, move. I got myself going after that, including the lavender-honey almond-milk latte I had been wishing for for the last week or so and starting in on that list. 

Sometimes, you can just get rolling and move on from whatever monsters are lurking, but often, it’s a little or a lot better to give some space and tears to the heartache and heartbreak and screams of injustice and pain in this world, and to remember to breathe and give thanks for your currently beating heart before taking that next step towards normalcy, and perhaps extend a hug or a hand with a bit of extra grace toward yourself and others (who might choose something other than a silly latte to call up smile-worthy memories and flavors in life).  

A quote I saw at the bitterly beautiful Holocaust museum brought simple perspective from a survivor whose call to resistance was step-by-step pursuing life in the face of death. Like the Psalmist's table in the presence of enemies. Eat, laugh, love.

So,

Don’t lose hope. Outwardly we are wasting away. Inwardly we are being made new day by day. These momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Focus on the unseen. The eternal. 

Tragedy, Hope, and a Honey-Lavender Latte

Some will understand more than others. This morning, I self-medicated with dry shampoo and a lavender honey almond milk latte. 

I pulled myself out of bed early with the birdies after a thoroughly tiring day of travel and mourning to drive to a meeting with church folk. Waking up, I saw news of more tragedy and injustice. Soul sank a bit more. Still, I groggily made my way around the house and eventually out the door. Upon arrival at Perkins, I was pleased to find that I was just barely early, and chagrined to realize that with travel plans and whatnot, I had the dates entirely wrong. The early morning meeting was yesterday. I really should have stayed in bed for an extra hour. or three. Hooray.

Options started to flit through my brain. How about visiting Grandma? She was barely getting up by then, and early morning routine is not a good time to interrupt. Head home and get going on the forever long and foreboding to-do-list? Crank out run 1 of 2 today? I thought of some other things, too. Impressive, I know, especially since they all received a mental “Nah.” Just keep driving. Light-bulb! I love the grocery store. I’ll stop by the grocery store and pick up a couple of things that had been on my other lengthy list. Not open yet. Drive some more. I’d love to stop by my Aunt’s place, but know they’re not in town. 

I found myself, as I often do, driving around the curvy shores of the lakes, pouring my heart out in song, in hopes of making some mini protest against the dark and proclaiming truth. Who hears you? 

Craving presence, still, I finally stopped, grabbed my little decorated Bible, scrambled across the street and moseyed down to the bench, still wet from last night’s rain. I stopped and glanced at the handful of runners making their way around the lake, and I opened to the Psalms. Earlier, I had read of Nebuchadnezzar's disastrous downfall and our own tendencies to build sandcastles in hopes of grandiosity, and I needed a bit more perspective. Here are snippets of Psalm 135 that I read, tuning out the pat-thud of runners' feet, the lapping of the water at the shore, the airplanes overhead and cars passing behind, letting eyes well up with hot tears, and tuning-in to the sun peaking through the clouds and the promise of hope that does not disappoint:

Praise the Lord, for the Lord is good; sing to his name, for it is pleasant! 

For I know that the Lord is great, and that our Lord is above all gods. 

Whatever the Lord pleases, he does, in heaven and on earth, in the seas and all deeps. 

He it is who makes the clouds rise at the ends of the earth, who makes lightnings for the rain and brings forth the wind from his storehouses. 

He it was who struck down the firstborn of Egypt, who sent signs and wonders, who struck down many nations.

Your name, O Lord, endures forever, your renown, O Lord, throughout all ages. For the Lord will vindicate his people and have compassion on his servants. 

The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths, but do not speak; they have eyes, but do not see; they have ears, but do not hear, nor is there any breath in their mouths. those who make them become like them, so do all who trust in them! 

O house of Israel, bless the Lord! You who fear the Lord, bless the Lord! 

Pray, move. I got myself going after that, including the lavender-honey almond-milk latte I had been wishing for for the last week or so and starting in on that list. 

Sometimes, you can just get rolling and move on from whatever monsters are lurking, but often, it’s a little or a lot better to give some space and tears to the heartache and heartbreak and screams of injustice and pain in this world, and to remember to breathe and give thanks for your currently beating heart before taking that next step towards normalcy, and perhaps extend a hug or a hand with a bit of extra grace toward yourself and others (who might choose something other than a silly latte to call up smile-worthy memories and flavors in life).  

A quote I saw at the bitterly beautiful Holocaust museum brought simple perspective from a survivor whose call to resistance was step-by-step pursuing life in the face of death. Like the Psalmist's table in the presence of enemies. Eat, laugh, love.

So,

Don’t lose hope. Outwardly we are wasting away. Inwardly we are being made new day by day. These momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Focus on the unseen. The eternal. 

tangled neurons, pressed, not crushed, rejoicing

Million tabs disease, anyone? 

Work to do, 

new social movements and social engagement, 

Instagram, Facebook photos, political lunacy and campaigning, 

world news, refugee crises, supporting ministry, South America, India, Syria, Somalia, family and friends spread ‘round the world, 

visit, drive, run, eat, blame, guilt, refresh, sleep, jam, 

flipping file folders, mentally, lost and found, dishes, espresso, clean, sip, 

sunshine through the blinds, 

rhythm, 

seek and find. 

Slow down. Listen. Here we are. 

Wherever we might like to be or wish we would have already done. 

I seriously doubt even the yogis are all one hundred percent present and content in each moment. 

Yet 

here we are. 

     There are the two extremes, always and forever, and the middle is not necessarily the best. In the case of busyness, perhaps, and there is despise from both ends, the hyper-productive critiquing the laziness and lackadaisicality of those who are judging the people-turned-machines. Gods of self abound. 

   That’s part of why those who really follow Jesus stand out, distinct, like the color splash in a black-and-white photo even as they slide into the background, pure pictures of humility and consistent faithfulness. Trust is a difficult thing, and God asks us to demonstrate and walk that faith when we CANNOT see. I think we are often infatuated with this idea as it seems the theme for the greats of old, for the Biblical heroes or missionary legends, but it is actually a Christian’s reality through the mundane and the supremely difficult. 

   Those who have been a part of the persecuted church know that this means pain, torture, and suffering replete with the most intimate joy and love that overflows with an inexplicable peace of comfort and contentment. Not unique to the persecuted church, but perhaps better understood, walking through a valley or a desert is not so uncommon as we would make it out to be. For many people, take the Israelites, for example, that was life. All of it. And now? Bedouins, refugees, house churches, tundra or slum-dwellers. We interpret the Bible as though it were written for and to our specific, plush, American situation we over-hype annoyances of high prices or long lines as anguish-able suffering, which does not leave room for real grief, hurting, and healing. We become numb to such things! 

I don’t mean to be terribly down on American society--my heritage includes an overly comfortable, privileged life, and I recognize that world-over, including the United States, there is an over-abundance of difficulty and struggle. I think I would just rather we own up to that and start moving with the hope of the gospel rather than living for a wish-dream of our imagined or superficial ideals. 

   Daniel has been a stand-out story to me for these past few days and weeks, impressed by his and his friends’ high-standards and deep commitment to obedience--a high view of a sovereign and saving God. Incredible wisdom from a God who reveals mysteries, it is a story brimming with seemingly insurmountable obstacles and moments of destitution. I’m ever-more convinced that sharing in suffering is the way to share in joy--identifying with Christ in his death that we might be raised to life with him--for the now and the forever. 

   Now, this will sound entirely crass and terrible to one who does not know this intimacy with Christ. It will sound masochistic and insensitive. However, this does not imply an aloof, condescending superiority to scatter confetti of well-wishing and platitudes on the suffering that they must be jumping for joy. Instead, it means that I will crawl into the trenches and do battle on my knees with these fellow soldiers and help them carry their burdens, rejoicing in and holding out hope that the Victor is Victorious already and will continue to be so in his children’s lives. 

   It means that we look for and relish and extend rest and peace and happiness in the midst of deep exhaustion and what may otherwise look like hopeless situations. It means we can say that things are difficult and there is not a clear path forward or up the mountain, and that others can help us along and carry the pack for a time. 

The Lord is my Shepherd

I shall not want

He makes me lie down in green pastures

He leads me beside quiet waters

he restores my soul

He leads me on paths of righteousness

For His Name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death

I will fear no evil 

for you are with  me

your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies

you anoint my head with oil

my cup overflows

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me

all the days of my life

and I will dwell 

in the house of the Lord

FoReVeR

Two roads diverged...

Going through my things (wanted to and forced to by parents in the remodeling process...), I came across my middle-school English portfolios (No, I didn't save everything, but yes, I still had my 5th grade Language Arts book because I loved grammar during school. haha). One of the poems I had selected was "The Road Not Taken," by Robert Frost; it has always been a struggle for me to live with fear of missing out, and I have almost always opted for new and different with a little taste of familiar.
I used this poem when I first met my students in 2013 (not a super successful grouping of lessons, but it was kind of trial by fire, and we've come a long way. :)), and I've had an image of myself in the woods, thinking about climbing up a tree with a friend for a time, so of course it would form the basis for an expression of how I, for one, often feel in the swirling of transition. Spiraled reflection from 1.13.15:

'Two Roads diverged in a yellow wood . . ." 

and I stood frozen to the spot. Uncertain, as I was, as to how I came to that place, so,

pausing to reflect and smile upon the road that had brought me here, 

I let the sun soak in and watched it dance on the leaves,

giving thanks to the Creator and Sustainer of life

whose incredible design and intimacy weaves its way through

such things as paths in the woods and 

lives of those who have trodden here.

Also, I love fall and the change of season--

the crisp, cool air and crunch that remind you you're alive

with burning colors of foliage and sunsets against 

an otherwise strikingly blue and cloudless sky.

My heart aches with the beauty and the longing

for all to be as it "should" be

although, 

even this, I know not

yet.

How did I come to this lonely place, again?

I'm not even alone! But, I am all too aware

of those who are

those who are hopeless, lost in the wood, 

not just in the privileged place of choice that indecision holds,

but in darkness, fearful or despairing persecution,

abandonment, illness, or death.

God, rescue them; hear our prayer.

Who am I?

I kneel

and I plea

and I rise

and take a few hesitant steps

wiping the tears and claiming the truth

that it is well

Shalom has arrived and is still coming.

So... the decision remains

Which steps do I take?

Because, as we all 

all too often realize, regardless of what's going on everywhere in the world

or even the turmoil of our own minds and hearts

here we are. 

This is it:

Life.

The great adventure

of the grandiose and the mundane.

Standing at forks and making what anyone might judge to be 

good or bad choices along the way.

Scampering off the side of the path

to climb a tree.

play in the leaves,

or peer at a deer.

Maybe we shoot the poor thing or run ahead and away.

We laugh, we sing, we whistle or hum,

then we stroll silently...

The silence weighs, heavy.

Some stop to wonder if

this is the only path

in the only wood...?

or if there are 

innumerable others

and other travelers

with different beginnings and endings...?

And how do paths cross sometimes, but

not others?

And some are there all along the way

or in and out...?

Some seem to say,

"Ah, heck with these two roads!"

and they forge off into the bramble.

Others seem befuddled

by even one stray leaf and

ignore even the existence of another path. 

Some seem to choose helter-skelter

to run up

and down

over and

back

calling out to see and notify 

as to what's around each bend.

While yet others, content to wait and watch,

accompany their puppy or rest

in revelry,

curious,

as to the regular goings on in

summer

autumn

winter

spring

So, why  me?

why now?

why here?

I ask any number of selfish questions and

imagine all sorts of possibilities . . .

When suddenly,

I snap back

like getting thrown out of a high-speed tunnel of sorts

to the very spot where I started!

Here, in the yellow wood.

And, I see that same hand invite me

to climb a tree

to see 

just a bit more 

and enjoy 

the sunset of this fine day,

knowing full well that 

knowing won't exactly help,

and knowing,

in the wee hours of the morning, 

I'll be journeying on and

I'll take the path before me

with its consequences of all shapes and sizes.

But I take the hand,

its warm embrace,

and I smile,

eyes closed, and then

wide open

to inhale and exhale the cool evening air

mingled with the comforting, spicy steam 

of my tea,

hands warm, cupped around the mug.

I know this is a place I need to be,

this tree

that's been rooted and grounded, flourishing here.

Here, with my Lover, Provider, Companion, Coach, Friend, Rescuer, Peace, Hope,

Guide, Light, my Life.

Because, 

tomorrow,

we journey on,

and it will be

thrilling!

adventurous

straining

tiring

exhausting

painful

tearful

fulfilling

sweet

joyful

old and new.

Tonight,

we're here.

Because tomorrow,

we journey on.

Knowing what we know;

not knowing what we don't.

We'll wrestle and relish the richness,

arguing and striving and relinquishing

and moving forward

like you usually do

one step at a time.

Because tomorrow, 

we journey on.

And now is part of the journey, too.

Welcome back to the tundra!

First, I think I let everyone know, but I'm sure there are many lovely folks who do not know I am currently in the beautiful tundra we know as Minnesnowta--twin cities (holla!). 

There will definitely be a few students who realize mid-Feb. that Miss Ness is not at LPDV--cheers to paying attention. My stay in my old stomping grounds and my newly furbished styrofoam-wall room is . . . undefined. Intentional, but undefined. We'll get to that. For now, some confessional. 


I have not written in ages upon ages. Main reason being, life became oh-so-normal that I forgot the importance of sharing it with those outside to peer back and forth and compartir in the goings on. And, we all have to struggle with the existential doubts of adding any more word pollution to what's already out there. Then, often Kate so kindly listened to me, whether it be reading with different voices and accents or pontificating on life in this world and all its confusions. Sometimes I wrote thoughts, corresponded with dear individuals, and I frequently prayed for those outside my immediate circle, but my world got a little bit small. And I think that's ok, for a time. However, I do think my own soul benefits from speaking out and I am inspired and challenged by others who do so, so I will continue to spill from time to time in the public but hidden anonymity of yet another blog on the world wide web. 

Many, many months of ups and downs, visits and normalcy, laughter and growth, stress and wits ends, prayers and thoughts and conversations led to the decision to move back to Minnesota, at least for a season. I hope to see what this great state has to offer and get to know my family, again while seeking to discern what's next for a little longer-term. 

Some highlights from the past couple of months: 

Ending 2014
Finishing the school year with my 7th, 8th, and 9th graders, Skyping Uncle John in Biology, despedidas with co-workers and friends, last visits to Viña and getting caught in the rain, swimming and exercising outside, goodbyes with Rick & Pam who were so good to us, canning jam, Amos' goodbye giggles, visits to the beach, tears, parties, sweet words of affirmation and last-minute family visits and packing. 

Christmas and 2015
Ohio visiting Kate's home and family, reintroduced to feeling frozen, time with Em and Katniss before China, home right in time for Christmas with the family, meeting cousins' new babies, white Christmas, morning with Renae and Christmas Eve service with Wolfs, Francisco's visit with everything everything new from ice skating to walks on the lake, Family outings and hospitality, CO snowy mountains and black diamond runs in the blizzard-y snow, YMCA when it's freezing and outside exercise when it's nice, slow mornings with Mama Ness, seeing Benji and anticipating re-connecting/starting the life now that break time is over.

So here we are, a day with sunshine and snow. There is hope for each new day. Vamos, pues. 

Side note: I thoroughly enjoy basketball and have loved the opportunities to coach athletes in it, but I attest that one of the best decisions I made was joining nordic skiing my senior year of high school. Out of shape but loving every time I get to be outside and skate or classic! 
I call on you, O God, for you will answer me. . .
Show me the wonder of your great love, you who save by your right hand those who take refuge in you... Ps. 17

What goes up . . . (Mt. Bike part II)

... Yes, must come down. This is the glory of the climb—those down-hills—mmm. (I missed skiing dearly this ‘winter’!) However, it just so happens that I didn’t have functional brakes. Kind of problematic, don’t you think? A little panic-inducing when you’re going down a steep, but not too much. I did realize this during the first chunk of decline, and had Louis and Henry add to ways I’m indebted to them by asking them to tighten my brakes. (This did make it more difficult, yet, because it’s tightened to the extent that it’s braking a bit even without squeezing the handlebars, but so be it. Haha. They have a lot of ammunition for making fun of me at this point, from past rides… glad I’ve learned to laugh at myself in multiple languages. ; ) )

Made me think about going with reckless abandon, without fear, without boundaries, without precaution… the good and the bad and the need to ask for help.

Around this point, Henry gave me the “bad news” that I had gotten dirty, this time on my own.  (Just the week before, Louis had attempted to jump a puddle but had landed with his back tire just-so, so that it splashed me in muddy “chicken water”)

Somehow, some people get through hard workouts and look like they just applied makeup and fixed their hair, they do manual labor without breaking a sweat, they cook and look cute in their apron with a sparkling kitchen. I’m not one of those people. I develop piles of paper before I clean my classroom or bedroom thoroughly. I make a mess in the kitchen and then clean it up. I turn redder than red for a good hour or two after I work out. If I play with kiddos, I’m just as dirty as they are. And I think I’d like to remain such a person, or at least just admit that that’s how I am. Be it in relationships, in thinking, in speaking, in creating… I relish the simplicity and beauty of the complicated interconnectedness of life.

I don’t really think I will ever be cutesy and delicate nor will I have precise handwriting, succinct thoughts or an immaculately clean and organized space to call my own. This is not to say that I embrace chaos, rather that I embrace the God of the universe who actually has the control, not me. I will still fight entropy. I make my bed (most of the time) and do my laundry and wash my dishes and use file folders. I’m just not afraid of the mess.

My dad taught me, “If you make a mess, you clean it up.” That is to say, take responsibility for your crap. This is difficult, because you have to admit that everything isn’t perfect. In Luke, even the tax collectors and all those in a similar “far from God” lifestyle “acknowledged that God’s way was right” when they heard Jesus’ words because they had received a baptism of repentance. But the Pharisees and other Bible thumpers and experts “rejected God’s purpose for themselves” because they had not humbled themselves and repented. This is why I think it’s ok that I admit a lot of the things I’m not good at right now. I can make it through this season (Phil. 4) as long as I start on bended knee and looking out and up.

I think a lot of what’s “worth it” in this life or hints at the real deal is messy and difficult. I still struggle to lean into the tension.