I've Always Loved Yellow Roses . . .

Growing up, I don't think I had a lot of dreams. Fantasies, yes. Lord, I had FANTASIES: I was going to be the next Amy Grant. I would have a Southern accent. I had long, thick, curly hair. I was outrageously attractive and oh-so-slim. And I would do great things for God. Great! Things! For GOD!!

Still it has been an unconventional life so far. I have traveled all over the world, living on four of the six continents (or seven, depending on where you were schooled) (and I will get to Antartica and Asia before I am done!). I have lived in six states. I have been a waitress, a secretary, a real estate assistant, a book seller, a non-profit director, a counselor, a corn detasseler and a professional actor/singer. I've had two husbands and one son. I have good friends all over the globe from as far back as 35 years with whom I still connect. I have finished college and am close to finishing graduate school. I have been ecstatically happy and I have mourned deeply. I have taken many, many unexpected turns in my life and my life has been the better for those turns.

So I always keep an eye toward the bend in the road, knowing that God allows us so much freedom to create our lives with Him--writing a story that will allow us to enjoy and honor Him, others, and ourselves. In fact, after about five years in a place, I start to itch to move, to live a new adventure, and to meet more of God's incredible people.

Still. I never thought I would live in Texas. I know the Texan readers will find this hard to believe: It never occurred to me that I could or might live in Texas.

Yet the fact remains: in December, Pete, Thaddeus, and I will move to Texas! North Dallas, to be more precise. And once we get back from this "View Trip," I can be even more precise!

So I'm pulling on my boots. Bring on the yellow roses and I'll work on my drawl . . . y'all!

Nude Neighbors & Truth-Telling Sons

I called my friend a little while ago to tell her my Office Depot story. Her son answered the phone. Names have not been changed because he is an innocent!

"Hello?"
"Hey Stephen! How are you? What are you doing today?"
"Going to garden camp" (Sandy is Earth Mother Extraodinaire)
"Wow, that sounds fun! May I talk to your mom before you leave?"
"Well. I think I should talk to you for a while because my mom is naked."

Beat. Beat. Beat. Strangle laughter back.

"Do you want to hang up and then go to the the shower and tell her to call me when she is dressed?'
"Well, now she is naked in the bedroom."
"Oh . . . Well, do you want to just talk to me?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you go ask her what she wants to do?"
"MOM! Kirsten is on the phone!"

Have I mentioned how grateful I am that Thad mostly babbles right now?

This is What Dreams Coming True Looks Like

My private practice office. Isn't it lovely? (Thanks to Vanessa for her exquisite decorator's expertise. I would have set up some beanbags and called it a day.)

Just When I Thought Life Couldn't Be Any Weirder . . .

I ordered some things from Office Depot through their website a few days ago. The items came and I was so excited: OFFICE SUPPLIES! ORGANIZATION! FUN THINGS FOR MY DESK!! (Side note: one of the most fun things I have been assigned to do in my life was take care of office supply inventory and supply at a law firm I worked for back in the day. The power I had has only been matched by the other responsibility given to me: Recycling Czarina! [A title I came up with myself; they just told me to manage the recycling program. Boring.])

Anyway, two of the items, totalling $30, didn't work out. I tried to return them to a OD store, but apparently if you buy something online you have to return it the same way.

SO.

I called the customer service number and told them my sad news: the letter trays were too wide for the slot (Don't ask why I didn't measure before. I was dazzled by shiny wire letter trays that would finally allow me to be organized!) He took the item numbers, told me he would credit my account for $30 and gave me a confirmation number.

Then, NO JOKE, he said, "Mrs. Christianson, you can just keep those items and dispose of them however you see fit. We have credited your account, we apologize for the inconvenience and hope you will shop with us again."

Maybe the blueberries in my cereal were fermented?

Did I hear him correctly or is his Indian accent playing with the hammer in my ear?!??

So I took another run at it: When will the items be picked up?

"As I said, Mrs. Christianson, we have credited your card and you are free to dispose of the times in whatever manner you wish. We are sorry for the inconvenience and hope you will shop with us again."

Unbelievingly, I said, "Okay."

Then I hung up and called back to ask another representative what I had misunderstood.

A lovely Indian woman explained to me that no, my blueberries were fresh; yes, my card had been credited; and no, it wasn't a scam. They have discretion to make the call when the items are not worth sending a truck out to pick up the return.

I think I may have found my calling: Reselling Office Depot items I "return."

Anybody want a buy some letter trays cheap?

I Was Robbed--and How Grateful I Am!

Friends are siblings God didn't give us.

Today my "little brother" Rob turns 30. I have been thinking about his impending birthday for the past few weeks, pondering what I want to say to him on this milestone day. Although Rob and I have not spoken for about two years, I think about him often and continue to thank God for bringing him into my life.

I met Rob through my friend Shannon (gorgeous redhead in the above picture). They were new classmates in their graduate school program. Shannon and I had moved to Seattle, separately, from South Carolina and while we knew a few people, we were looking to expand our friend circle. Rob was a great fit!

The first few months we knew each other, we spent quite a bit of time together. That time was spent: talking, looking for a home church, talking, "studying on the beach", talking, traveling (Hoh Nat'l Rain Forest, San Francisco), talking . . . well, I think you get the drift.

Rob was a safe man (12 years younger than me!) that we could be ourselves around--and pump for insider information about The Single Man in the 21st Century! I think Rob looked at us as good sources of information as well. But on a deeper level, we three were needing God's redemption. We were beginning our lives . . . again. Our hearts had been broken, we weren't sure how to dream and we were needing real hope and authentic community.

Rob invited me to speak into his life and that is a treasured gift he gave. He would call me at all hours and ask me to tell him a story of hope. In so doing, I believe Rob was performing a ministry to us both: reminding us that Christ calls us to hope and promises that "hope does not disappoint." And sure enough, hope has not disappointed: Rob and I each found "the one[s] our hearts [sought]" (bless you, Jenna and Pete, for waiting for us!) and we both are doing what we believe we were created to do: sit with people, hold their stories and remind them that hope does not disappoint.

Rob is dear to my heart because he allowed me to express fear and didn't freak out or give me easy promises about my future. No matter how many times I cried about the same few things, he hung in with me. I have not found a lot of men who will stay put in the hard places.

What I am trying to express about Rob is best illustrated by this story. By December 2001, five months after moving to Seattle, I was overwhelmed with God's gracious provision and blessing. Instead of being a broken, isolated, less-than divorced woman, God had given me a new start: I had new real friends, I had a church with a diverse and loving community group, I had American and foreign men offering to take me out, I was finishing my undergrad degre . . . I could go on and on.

On this particular December evening I was driving home from a party and sobbing, trying to find words to tell God how grateful I was. I was actually burdened by gratitude. I found myself praying for the gift of tongues, that God was loose my tongue and express my very deepest heart. Upon my arrival home, I found an incredible present from one of the little daughters of the family with whom I lived. It was the last straw and I fell apart. I called Rob, I don't even know how he understood me I was crying so hard and I know I wasn't making sense. He just let me cry and talk it all out. Finally, I wailed, "How will I ever be able to express to God how deep and wide my gratitude is . . .? And Rob quietly said, "Kirsie, just enjoy your life. That's how you will thank God--by enjoying what He has given you."

His words pierced my heart and I knew they were straight from God. I was making gratitude a transactional act of work. BLAH! Rob didn't try to fix me or find words for me or roll his eyes. He just spoke the truth in love and it changed me.

So now you see why I love Rob, and why I miss him, and why I celebrate him on this, his 30th birthday. When you know a strong man who loves God, chases dreams, lives out of desire and stays in the fire with you . . . well, you just celebrate and enjoy, because it is the best way to express your gratitude to God.

Rob was also a lot of fun and I can't end this post without telling one funny story. It's hard to choose, but I think this one still makes me laugh the most.

I lived in a walk-out basement apartment in a beautiful home with a wonderful family in the Ballard Neighborhood of Seattle. They had recently remodeled and so I lived in a designer apartment! It was a refuge and it was aesthetically fulfilling.

Anyway, one day Rob came over to "study". He was sitting on the sofa and I was on my big reading chair. We were actually reading. I suddenly became aware of this sound, like a waterfall. Now, I don't own one of those fake waterfalls because to me it would be like paying money to hear the toilet run constantly. And while I lived close to the water, I hadn't heard it all the way to my house before, so I didn't think it could be Puget Sound, either. All of a sudden I saw Rob's mouth moving but no sound coming out.

I turned and looked toward my bed, only to see water pouring from the ceiling down the walls onto my bed and in my closet! What happened next can only be described as a Keystone Kops routine as we scrambled to stop (??) the water, call the landlords upstairs and save my wallhanging!

Maybe you had to be there, but I am glad Rob and I were--it was priceless on all kinds of levels!

Finally, a few pictoral remembrances . . .

Rob & Shannon in San Francisco Bay Area

Ummm . . . Rob?! Rob trying to capture the WHOLE TREE in the picture!

This story is for another time . . . Just don't stay at the Hoh National Rain Forest Hostel!

Identity is not something that falls on us out of the sky. For better or for worse, identity is bestowed. We are who we are in relation to others. But far more important, we draw our identity from our impact on those others—if and how we affect them. We long to know that we make a difference in the lives of others, to know that we matter, that our presence cannot be replaced by a pet, a possession, or even another person. (Sacred Romance, John Eldredge)

Rob, you impacted me in ways too numerous and/or personal to mention here. You started me on the path to figuring out what it means to be a woman in a man's presence. You helped me to laugh, to relax, to not settle, to rest . . . and to hike (BLAH!).

Pete, Thaddeus and I send you much love and joy and peace on your 30th birthday, Friend.

xoxo Kïrsten

Why I LOVE Seattle--It's April!

Madness??? I'm just MAD.

I am very mad at Duke and Coach K and JJ Redick right now. They are not the only ones I have anger toward, to be sure. But they are the ones that cost me the most points. And really, it's not even about points. It's about being in the game. And I am essentially out. Oh, I still have Villanova and CT (although since Washington has done better than I had them doing and I LIVE in Washington, I now really want them to win. But I digress.) but what's the point? I don't have anyone to really root for now. Can you feel my pain? I am SO GLAD my friend Carl didn't contact me about a pool this year (Carl??? Where did you go? This was a highlight of my year and I didn't hear from you! I paid up last year!!). At least I don't have to lose money. Just self-pride.

So I guess I have to get back to my real job now. Sigh.

Charles M. Tanner, An Expression of Gratitude

The earthquake you felt and the tremendous crack you heard break the sound barrier on Sunday at 3a was a great man falling. Sunday morning, Charles M. Tanner , husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather, brother-in-Christ, entered into a well-deserved rest with his Savior.

But I am starting at the end of the beginning. I really need to start at the beginning of the beginning so you can appreciate how my world—and yours—has been rocked.

In 1963, the year before I was born, Charles M. Tanner, at the time working in Hollywood, started Covenant Players. He wasn’t an out-of-work playwright or actor. He wasn’t bored or independently wealthy. He was called. God gave Charles (CMT) a radical vision: professionally-trained actors performing quality drama for the church, with a deep desire to turn the world upside right for Christ. Starting out with a handful of friends and three plays, Covenant Players went on the road. By the time I joined in 1983 (with about 90 others), there were about 100 teams on the road worldwide, performing 1500+ plays ranging in length from 30 seconds to full three-act productions in 66 countries in I don’t remember how many languages . . . It was, and is, a thing of beauty.

CMT’s dedication and vision for Covenant Players was and continues to be prophetic. He dared to craft plays—given by the Holy Spirit—that exhorted, challenged and pleaded with the Church to be the Bride She is called to be. In the 18 years I have been away from CP I have not found drama material that matches the now-3,000+ plays CMT wrote to be performed for church people, school teachers and children, prisoners, nursing home residents, military personnel and anyone else who was willing to watch.

But I want to talk about my former boss, mentor, father-figure and friend, Chuck.

The thing I loved most about Chuck was that he was fully human. And he enjoyed being a human. He was a visionary who was flawed (Dare I say stubborn? I dare.), a charmer who could be tough, a serious man who loved to laugh. He was discerning and biased, a brilliant thinker who loved giving gifts. He was comfortable in his skin and I rarely saw him equivocate (if ever). There is a phrase that reminds me of Chuck: “Sometimes wrong, but never in doubt!” He was steadfast in his call and passionate about the baby God had given him, this miracle called Covenant Players.

He wasn’t passionate about a thing or a corporation. He was passionate about God’s ministry and the people who made it happen. Twice a year he sent a diverse, random group of people out in teams of four or five people, with his plays, and trusted them to love one another for the five months they lived together, love and disciple (through drama and living their lives) the people and geographical area they served, and to love God “with all their hearts, all their souls and all their minds.” He knew that his plays and his life’s work would be evaluated—judged—based on how these Covenant Players lived their professional and personal lives. Having directed a ministry that I DIDN’T start, I know how hard it is to trust your baby to someone else . . . particularly once you get to know them! But he did, sometimes to his detriment. He did it because he was called and he was obedient. And he did love and enjoy people.
Chuck changed my life in profound ways that I am still discovering. He was the first man to look into my eyes and tell me that I could do anything I set my mind to do. He told me I would do it well and that he would give me every opportunity I wanted to take. Chuck believed in me and I began to believe in myself.

Over the course of my five years in CP, I performed about 500 roles over 5,000 times in the U.S., Europe and Africa (Nigeria and Cameroon) in two languages (French & English). I performed for as few as two and as many as a few thousand people. Those performances took place in comfortable American megachurches, freezing cold British Anglican churches, pungent French nursing homes, loud and echo-y Irish schools, in tents on military fields in Germany, through a translator in the bush of Africa.

I failed. I soared. I surprised myself. I changed people’s lives (“That character you played tonight . . . She is me. I have wanted to kill myself for a long time. Now I can’t. You have shown me how God really sees ME. I leave here a different woman. Thank you.). I made life-long friends (Hi Chrissy! Call me!!!). My life was changed—who knew there was more than one way to worship God? That one doesn’t automatically go to hell if one speaks in tongues? That when my van breaks down in Flemish-speaking Belgium in the middle of the night in the middle of winter I can catch (don’t tell my mom, but really I hitched) a ride with some Turkish men to the next town, find housing, a mechanic and new friends? I had no idea that I could take three years of German, two of Spanish, and learn and perform in FRENCH!

(Unforgettable phone conversation with CMT: “Kïrsten, I need you to go to France. I know I told you that you could go to Ireland. I know you really want to go there. But I need you in France. Will you go to France?” “Chuck, I don’t speak French!” “Well, Dear, you know I was just over there in Europe and I was amazed how quickly my French came back.” “Chuck, I don’t have any French that CAN come back . . . I only know some German and even less Spanish. I never took French.” “You are a smart capacitous woman. You’ll catch on quickly.” “Okay. Thank you for the . . . opportunity . . . ?”)

And here’s the thing. I learned French. I performed in French. I ministered in French.

I was also grateful that I got to know Chuck the husband, dad and granddad. It is said that grandchildren provide a second chance for grandparents and I really saw that with Chuck. He loved the girls very much. One of my favorite pictures of Chuck was taken by Mike Shalkey: Chuck has Jennifer in his arms and he is totally taken with her. It was a gift he gave Christina and Suzanne, how much he enjoyed the granddaughters.

Chuck was quite aware that Dorie made his life work. Chuck was a man of many contradictions and it must be said that he was not always easy. In all the time I was in their home, I knew there was great, deep and complicated love between, under and surrounding the two of them. They were committed to each other. I have reflected on that commitment many times over the past 23 years. Many times.

My favorite Tanner Manor memory: I was assigned to Christina’s (Chuck’s daughter) unit. Training was over and we were getting ready to drive to our mission area. We stayed at the house for a few nights while in the midst of preparations. I got up one morning and everyone was out (I thought ) except Dorie and me. I had breakfast—cereal with FIGS OFF THE TREE—with Dorie, chatting and resting with each other. Then I went to take a shower. For some reason, Rickie Lee Jones’s song “Chuck E’s in Love” was in my head and I started singing it. The bathroom has pretty good acoustics, and I had just been put on a music & drama unit, so I was feeling my oats. I came out of the bathroom with a towel on my head and belted out “Chuck E’s in lo-ove! He’s in love, he’s in love, he’s in love, he’s in lo-o-o-o-o-ove, oh yeah” and ran right into Chuck, who had to sit down he was laughing so hard!

Oh the joy of making Chuck laugh—great big smile, fantastic twinkling eyes and a wonderfully robust laugh!

My second favorite CMT memory: Every year there is a celebratory banquet in January for the whole of CP. It takes place on every continent. The US banquet is in LA. In the good old days (ha!) it was an all-night affair. It usually started around 6 or 7p and finished up around 11a or noon the next day. By the time we got out of the gym, we were pretty punchy. The routine was to grab some In and Out Burger, go back to the house, pry off all the make up, crack off the hairspray, peel off the fancy clothes and HIT THE HAY. Sometime around 6-7-8p, Chuck would start knocking on doors: “I’m going to (fill in his restaurant du jour). Want to come?” We would drag ourselves out and have a bite. Then head back to the house, settle into the front sitting room and debrief/glow/tell stories. Chuck had amazing stamina. I mean, really he wasn’t human. But this night . . . Suzanne, Chris and I are chatting and laughing and I look over and see this, from the man who has been razzing me about sleeping too much:

He was relaxed in our presence enough that he let down and took a snooze.

I loved that so much.

But my favorite picture was taken by my friend Joe Friedman (found at end of post). It reminds me of the end of a simple, fairly short conversation I had with Chuck in which I told him something very painful. It was just the two of us at the kitchen table. He put down his paper and gave me his full attention. I told him, in tears, that someone had betrayed me and I didn’t know what to do. He reassured me of his love (“Well, my Dear, you know I love you.) He comforted me. And of course, he invited me (there is always room for you back on the road, my Dear. You know I think this is where you belong!”). He looked at me for a moment, shook his head sadly, patted my hand and went back to his paper. The pictures isin my living room. It tells a story.

I have to close by saying something about Chuck’s plays, because they are so much his essence. His plays are brilliant. They are smart, witty, rich, complicated, flirtatious, stunning, heartbreaking, confusing, priceless, lingering, full of love, hope, faith, light and dark . . . I am honored to have learned them and performed them.

I am unspeakably honored, grateful and indescribably blessed to have known and loved, and been loved by, their writer, Charles M. Tanner . . . Chuck.

And truly, this day, Chuck is in Love, with his Savior.

* * *

Good-bye

By Christine Dente

One day you went running on a grassy field

Too few came following

Your spirit flew this earthy place

And so with heavy hearts, yet a certain sense of joy

We say good-bye

*

And we are left to question

What do we do with this?

A day we all expect, yet unexpected, it always is

How beautiful the hope of those who know

Where they will go

*

He set us free

So we need not be afraid

We need not stay longer than the number of our days

Let us love

Mourn and suffer for His sake

Until the day it dawns on us when we must say

Good-bye

*

See, we’re the ones who wonder

We're the ones who live

To read and write and ponder ‘til our eyes begin to dim

How glorious the joy of those who go

They already know

*

He set us free

So we need not be afraid

We need not stay longer than the number of our days

Let us love

Mourn and suffer for His sake

Until the day it dawns on us when we must say

Good-bye

*

On a day like today my heart is bound a little less

To the tight and tiring vanities of life

Like a butterfly emerging, struggling to be free

I feel the lift, I sense the give it takes

To send me flying from this earthy place

*

He set us free

So we need not be afraid

We need not stay longer than the number of our days

Let us love

Mourn and suffer for His sake

Until the day it dawns when we must say

Good-bye

Tears in our eyes, we say good-bye, too soon to fly, we wonder why, we say

good-bye

**

© 2002 Mighty Grey Music/Lil’ Yella House Music/Dayspring Music, LLC (BMI)

Thank you, my friend.

I will see you on the other side of the Registrar.

A Philosophy, A Theology, A Perfume--

It's been an odd month for me.

Last year at this time, I was still trying to walk straight after delivering Thaddeus! No one tells you (or at least none of my friends told ME) that my pubic bones were going to spread so far apart that walking more than 10 feet would cause excruciating pain for almost one year post-birth!

But I that's for another post.

Relationships in my life are shifting. No. Not shifting. They are exploding. Great foundational changes are occurring. This includes my marriage, my family ties and my friendships.

In this post, I want to talk about the latter.

Four-and-one-half years ago, I stepped back from a significant relationship in my life. Well, actually, two significant relationships: one was my (first) marriage, the other a friend. This post is not about my (first) marriage and that stepping back (aka divorce).

At the time the friend was pursuing a course that I thought was harmful to himself and those who loved him. Because of my own story, I reached a point where I could not--at that time in my life--continue to walk with him. With pain and frustration I told him I could not be in relationship with him.

What made it so difficult is that he played a very important role in my life. I used to say he was like a wonderful older brother. But really, he was a father-figure. And at a time I needed him, I felt my father-figure was disappointing me. It was crushing and painful and all kinds of awful things. I cried for days.

Over the years much has happened in my life: I have remarried, I have a baby, I am close to a graduate degree and I have a private counseling practice. At each place I have missed my friend, my father-figure.

Over the years, I have matured. I am stronger and more able to be wounded on behalf of another. I know more of my own weakness and foolishness and need for grace.

I continued to keep tabs on him. I wondered if I had lost him forever. I dreamed about him. I asked God to work it out. And I waited.

Today I called him to ask if, when I was in town in a few weeks, I could take him to lunch and apologize to him. I didn't want to apologize for my convictions and weakness, but rather for how I loved my convictions and weakness more than him. So after checking with a friend to see if an overture might be welcome, I dialed the old familiar phone number.

Voice mail. Curse you, Voicemail!

I left a stuttering message, invited him to call me back, and waited.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang ("Jesus Take the Wheel" is my ringtone!). It was him. Before I could launch in, he stopped me. "Before we go any further, you don't need to apologize to me. It's in the past; let's let it stay in the past and start from here. You did what you had to do. I admire the straightforward way you let me know what you could and couldn't do. So unless you need to say something to me, let's move on. You don't need to apologize to me." (paraphrased)

Is there anything more humbling, alluring, overwhelming, healing . . . indescribable than grace?

I. Could. Hardly. Breathe. What could I possibly say?

Mercy is when you don't get what you deserve (in the form of punishment or consequences). Grace is when you do get what you don't deserve--in the form of kindness, blessing and love.

Grace has been called the Mark of the Christian Believer. It is the thing that distinguishes us, supposedly, from others. Today, I sat at the knee of a master.

U2 has an amazing song about grace. It is my anthem for 2006.

***

Grace, she takes the blame

She covers the shame

Removes the stain

It could be her name

Grace... It's a name for a girl

It's also a thought that changed the world

And when she walks on the street

You can hear the strings

Grace finds goodness in everything

Grace, she's got the walk

Not on a ramp or on chalk

She's got the time to talk

She travels outside of karma, karma

She travels outside... of karma

When she goes to work, you can hear the strings

Grace finds beauty in everything

Grace... She carries a world on her hips

No champagne flute for her lips

No twirls or skips between her fingertips

She carries a pearl in perfect condition

What once was hurt

What once was friction

What left a mark

No longer stings...

Because Grace makes beauty

Out of ugly things

Grace finds beauty in everything

***

Grace is to be more than a philosophy, a theology or a perfume.

It's to be a way of life. It's to be my way of life. I got off the phone and I wept.

To My Friend: Thank you. I love you. Welcome back. xoxo

Lord, Let It Be So

Jesus, I Am Resting, Resting

Jesus I am resting, resting,

In the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness

Of Thy loving heart.

Thou hast bid me gaze upon Thee,

And Thy beauty fills my soul,

For by Thy transforming power,

Thou hast made me whole.

Jesus I am resting, resting, In the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,

I behold Thee as Thou art,

And Thy love, so pure, so changeless,

Satisfies my heart;

Satisfies its deepest longings,

Meets, supplies its ev'ry need,

Compasseth me 'round with blessings:

Thine is love indeed!

Jesus I am resting, resting, in the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.

Ever lift Thy face upon me

As I work and wait for Thee;

Resting 'neath Thy smile, Lord Jesus,

Earth's dark shadows flee.

Brightness of my Father's glory,

Sunshine of my Father's face,

Keep me ever trusting, resting,

Fill me with Thy grace.

Jesus I am resting, resting, in the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.

Words by Jean S. Pigott; Music by David Hampton© 1998 New Spring Publishing, Inc. CCLI License No. 34305

It's Raining, It's Pouring . . .

Apparently I snore. Nightly. And it's cute.

Right.

Pete says that I snore pretty much every night, when I am not talking in my sleep and working out the world's problems. He thinks it's cute, my wife-snore.

I am mortified. Everyone knows snoring is not ladylike. It's more . . . truck driver-like.

In my defense? Seattle is on Day 28 of rain. We are one week away from breaking the record. Yea! A WHOLE MONTH of rain!

How can I NOT snore?

Put in your earplugs and wake me when it's over.

100 Things, Part Two!

So here is 26-50:

26. I feel 23; can't believe I am 41-almost-42.
27. I dream vivid dreams every night and I remember them when I wake up.
28. My dreams usually are the place that I say goodbye, that I figure things out, that my deeper fears/thoughts are revealed to my conscious self and that I am grateful to God for this "space apart."
29. I think if Christians talked more about redemption--and lived as though it was true--the Gospel would be utterly irresistible.
30. As recently as one year ago God redeemed a very painful area of my life. Yet I already have largely forgotten it as I see all that is unredeemed. So number 29 is really spoken to me.
31. I still am in regular contact with friends I made in third grade (Hey Lorrie!).
32. I hate the cold. I hate being cold. I can't believe I lived in Vermont for 10 years.
33. I ADORE a good snowstorm. There is nothing better than being snowed in and everything is shut down so you are not expected to show up anywhere. Yea.
34. I miss my dog Lucy something fierce.
35. Having a baby is far better than having a dog. Having a dog is far easier than having a baby.
36. I lived in Africa for six months 19 years ago. I think about it every day and still hope I will return someday.
37. If I had all the time and money in the world I would get an Master of Divinity after I finished my Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology. So far, time and money are very limited.
38. If I was 10 years younger and had met Pete 10 years ago I think I would have four or five children.
39. Number 38 shocks me! (And probably terrifies Pete.)
40. I have an Aunt Bea who is from Iowa (although she has moved to MN recently). People find this funny. I find it providential.
41. My Aunt Julie (also from Iowa and still there) can do anything. She is, by far, the most talented and gifted person I know. Just five years older than me, I grew up wanting to be like her. She was musical (writing her own music, playing the guitar and any other instrument she cared to pick up, and singing), athletic (track, basketball, volleyball, horseriding, etc., etc., etc.), smart, witty and fun. She also told me the scariest stories when we were girls and I still won't go into the basement of my great-grandparents' former house, no matter how much money you offer me.
42. I am in an epic spiritual struggle right now. Pray for me. (Now and at the hour of my death.)
43. Two-and-a-half years ago I started a book group because God told me to do so. I did it with a lot of reservations. It is one of the best things I have done. I have five other women in my life who really know me and allow me to know them. Thanks, God.
44. Right now I feel like I am failing at most everything in my life. This is not a familiar feeling for me . . . I am off kilter and strangely, I feel that is exactly where God wants me right now. Thanks, God.
45. I can still taste the rhubarb that grew by the sidewalk between my great-grandparents' and my grandparents' houses.
46. My brother and I are not very close. It makes me sad. Yet at random times he will call me to check in and always tells me that he loves me. It moves me profoundly each time.
47. In tenth grade I told Mr. Lillie, my algebra teacher, that I didn't need algebra because I was going to be a singer like Amy Grant. He was such a great teacher that he didn't even crack a smile. He told me that if I would work at algebra, he would buy every album I made. He looked me in the eyes when he said it and he meant it. I loved him for it. He died of ALS quite a few years ago. I wish I would have thanked him.
48. My son has an old soul. Many people have commented on it. I love that for him and I wonder what it will mean for him.
49. I hate coffee, dislike (hot) tea and am not a huge soda fan. I am a hot chocolate woman all the way. Why does Starbucks put a shot of vanilla in their hot chocolate? Dumb.
50. Books. God's best creation after people. End of story.