Some Good Advice

Twice within the past month I've been given the best advice I'll probably ever receive. It is in no way complex or fancy, quite simple and profound at the same time. Even though it isn't hard to conceptualize it doesn't mean that it is easy in practice. It actually is something I will be trying to do my entire life, struggling the entire time.
Both Phil and James said it in the same exact way, heartfelt and kind. It was in reference to campers I will be working with all summer, but what would happen if I applied it to my everyday life? "Let them know that they are loved by God." Isn't this supposed to be what I do every day?
Once I told my roommate freshmen year that the best gift that anyone can give is the love for the other. I'd now like to revise this statement. Certainly love from person to person can be beautiful, but it is nothing without the love of God. The best gift anyone can give to another is the love of the Father.
How do you put into words the all expansive, all forgiving, redemptive love of God? Even my own mind cannot fully comprehend why he loves me so; all I know is that I am whole because of it. If I knew not the Father, I know not the gift. Love without the knowledge of the Holy is worthless indeed. For what else can bring sight to the blind and healing to the brokenhearted? What else can show me my true self and love me in spite of it?
This is the LORD: slow to anger, rich in love, good to all. It is this love that we are to generously pour upon the world. This is what the world so desperately needs.

My Top 5

Things Under $5 I Couldn't Live Without

Q-Tips
Funky cheap earrings
Sunscreen
Bobby Pins
Soap

Favorite Movies

Sense and Sensability
Singing in the Rain
Roman Holiday
Enchanted
Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Songs to Put on Repeat

Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
The Way You Make Me Feel by Michael Jackson
Breakable by Ingrid Michaelson
Break Bread by Josh Garrels
God of Wrath by The David Crowder Band

Influential People

Michelle Silvashy
My sister Kate
My Roommates (it's the five for one deal)
Marty Kucharek
The Prays

Things Always in My Purse (or Backpack/Bag)
(I don't normally carry a purse unless I'm going on campus, then its a vivid green belum from PNG)

Whatever book I'm reading at the moment
Sunglasses case with glasses
Wallet/Keys/Phone
Papers I need to grade
Homework I've procrastinated on doing

Moments that Changed My Life Forever

My Jesus Moment!
When I decided to go to SSU
When I finally got accepted to SSU
My baptism
When I said "yes" to live with my roommates

Obsessions I Currently Have

Cleaning my ears
Keeping the coffee table clean
Ignoring the mess on my desk
Hand washing dishes
Wearing my hair very large

Organizations I'm Glad Exist

Blood:Water Missions
International Justice Mission (IJM)
InterVarsity
Students International
Costco

Favorite Accessories

Crazy earrings
My Crocs or any other shoe
Aviators
A watch
My ferociously green belum

Favorite Books

Duh, the Bible written by God
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan

Modern Inventions

Bicycles
The Internet
The washing machine
Window Fans
Cameras

Classes

California Ethnic Literature with Bob Coleman
Geology of Natural Disasters with Karner
Survey of Late British Literature with Thaine Stearns
Ancient Art History with Susan McKillop
Environmental Studies with Erv Peterson

Foods I Never Tire Of

Barbecue Chicken Pizza (made by Ashley, of course)
Ice Cream of almost any flavor
Lemon Chicken
Beans and Rice
Bagels

Countries I Want to Visit

Germany
Luxembourg
Antarctica
Chile
Russia

Places I Think Would Be Fun to Live For One Year (or more)

Denver
New York
A small mountain town in the Sierra Nevadas
Lake Tahoe and surrounding areas
Costa Rica

I Ain't No Holla-Back Girl

Yes, you did read that title correctly. I've decided that I don't like being hollered at.
For the past semester I've been hanging out on campus at Charlie Brown Cafe all morning/early afternoon on Fridays. I wake up, bring by backpack full of books and homework and enjoy a (sometimes) quiet time in the cafe. I have my small group discipleship group there, then a prayer meeting, then I hand out until my roommate Ashley gets off at 1.30. We then proceed to stroll back home.
The walk back home is normally, well, pretty normal. Talk about how work was (even though I am there almost her whole shift making faces at her and asking for discounted drinks), how discipleship was, etc. But for the past two weeks we have been hollered at by guys in cars! Now if I were talking to my dad, he would just tell me, "Tamsen, they are just guys having fun bird-doggin' some girls." My mother would say, "You should tell them to take a picture. It lasts longer!" Both of these responses force me to roll my eyes as the little feminist inside rears her ugly head.
I'm not big on feminism. The only feminist writing that I've read and actually liked was Mary Wollstonecraft's A Vindication of the Rights of Women. Certainly not very radical compared to what we have today, but back when she wrote it, it was hugely taboo. For those of you who haven't read it, its basically an educated woman saying that women 1) have souls; 2) have brains and emotions; and 3) should be allowed to do things other than knit and cook and have babies. Sounds good to me. I admit I sometimes like gender roles. I like it when guys are gentlemen who treat me and other women well. But whenever I get hollered, most of the time I just get disgusted. And half the time when I'm hit on, I don't really understand what is going on. I just get creeped out by the guys who are doing it.
I had a conversation with a male friend last week (who will remain nameless) about commenting on the opposite sex's appearance. I think he was playing devil's advocate but couldn't really tell. He was saying that he think that when a person looks on another person of the opposite gender and comments on how attractive they are, they could be committing adultery. He uses Jesus's words from Matthew 5:27-31 when He says, "You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. " I'm not sure if commenting on someone's attractiveness is considered adultery. I think it would depend on the heart motives behind the comment. But then again, I guess the same could be said for the holler-ers.

The Tambourine Man

(No Matt, this post is not about the Bob Dylan song.)

It is about, however, the man who came to church with a tambourine.
Yes, you read that correctly, the man who brought his own tambourine to church.
Picture this: Wednesday night service at Calvary Chapel Sebastopol. It is the mid-week service, so the crowd is smaller and more intimate. I am sitting at my normal spot, the second row from the front on the left. We are all welcomed in and asked to stand up to read one of the psalms, the traditional "call to worship" that we do. We read it together, then are ushered into the music time.
Lo and behold, a man who is sitting across the isle whips a tambourine out of his bag! Say what?!? I didn't realize that my jaw had dropped until after I had started to smile. He gave it a few shakes gingerly, as if not knowing if he would get in trouble.
Seconds later, our associate pastor swoops in. He gently puts his hand on the mans shoulder and whispers something to him. The tambourine man nods his head and places his instrument down on the ground.
As I sit and think about this, it makes me wonder what music in church would be like if we all brought our instruments of choice and played them. Trumpets galore, guitars, perhaps the occasional bassoon or nose flute. We certainly would not have the London Symphony on our hands, but would it be any less pleasing to God? The Psamls say to clap our hands and shout to the Lord with cries of joy (Ps 47.1), but we don't necessarily do that in worship either.
I dont' know what I would have done. I personally kind of wanted the tambourine man to do his thing. I think it might have been a way for him to engage in musical worship. Perhaps it would be more welcome in a church that was clappy. Churches are generally divided into two categories: Those who like Niel Diamond, and those who don't (for those of you who didn't get it, its a "What About Bob?" quote). Actually, I've heard that they can be classified as "clappers" or "non-clappers." But in reality, does it really matter? Does clapping and shouting and singing and tambourining (or the lack thereof) enhance the joy that it brings to the LORD?
I donno. Its just something to think about.

Perspectives

My story is not a new one.
But I'm convinced that life is rarely as boring as I pretend it to be, especially my life.
I was having a conversation with my friend Phil a couple of months ago. He kept on asking me what was new. I ran out of things to say after one or two answers, but he kept persisting! The next time he asked me this, I told him that I had nothing else new in my life. And he said to me, "Tamsen, you are a child of God. I doubt that your life is boring."
So maybe I'm not boring after all. Maybe my life is exciting. I am a child of the Most High God. He did save me from my sins. He has redeemed me. I live each day in the knowledge of his Holiness and Love. Isn't that in itself exciting? His mercies are new every morning. That is what is new, but at the same time its not. Its new because I start off each day with a clean slate, but I also start off each day with the same age-old promise of unfailing love and redemption.
The Lord does new and good things to us each day. Like today seemed pretty average. I woke up, got ready, and went out to Charlie Brown Cafe on campus to do some reading and homework. There I ran into one of my favorite professors and he said hello. As I stopped at the counter to say hello to one of my roommates, she told me that one of our friends/her co-worker had just recently given her life to the Lord. Hallelujah! Is that boring? Nope. Yet again the Spirit is moving hearts and calling them to the Lord.
I was grading papers for the English 101 class I am a TA for, and my friend James sits down next to me. Fabulous! He's one of my favorite people because he's quite chipper and always brings a smile to my face. He plays the cello quite well. We both applied to a summer job through and organization called Sierra Service Project. We were discussing when our second interviews were (both on April 18th) and getting slightly giddy at the idea of working together for the summer and laughing at the possibility of us hating each other at the end of it all.
Then at 11.00 I had my third official discipleship meeting. I get to disciple two freshman girls for the rest of the year, and hopefully the rest of my time at Sonoma. We currently are going through Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, and had a great discussion that could have lasted another good hour if it were not for prior engagements.
I came home to eat some lunch, spent time with two of my other roommates. Then rode my bike to work (don't worry, its only a mile and a half away) only to ride it back 15 minutes later. The young man whom I tutor did not have any homework to do! The syllabus is incorrect for the rest of the semester because the professor changes her mind more often than not. I think she is the SRJC version of Velma (if you have any idea who Velma is, you know what I mean). I realized that I really like riding my bike. Good exercise and a good opportunity to be outside. I especially like it when the wind is pushing against you and making your legs work harder to move forward.
When I came home, I was greeted by a small black chihuahua named Cloe. We are watching her for our campus minsters for a couple of days. They have a wedding in Lodi to attend, so we get to be "aunties" for the weekend. Its nice to have a dog, even if it is small enough to step on.
So back to what I was talking about: I'm convinced that my life is not boring. I just have to look past what seems normal and mundane and find joy in being in the right hand of God. Now that is exciting.

Prayers, Promises, and Hopes

So I know that its over two months past Christmas, but I just cannot get over the power of this song! My favorite version is by Bethany Dillon. It is slow and mournful. I played it for two musician friends of mine, Dave and James. Dave plays the classical guitar, James the cello. James hated it. He said it was too sad. But Dave said that it was how the song was supposed to be-it is a cry from God's Chosen People.

Here it is:

O Come, O Come Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appears

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel

O come, O come, great Lord of might
Who to Thy tribes on Sinai’s height
In ancient times once gave the law
In cloud and majesty and awe

O come, desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease
And be Thyself our King of Peace

Oh He shall come, O He shall come
Shall come to thee, O Israel
Has come to thee, O Israel

Just like Dave said, the song is a plea! The ti­tle comes from Isai­ah 7:14: “Be­hold, a vir­gin shall con­ceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Im­man­u­el.” Im­man­u­el itself means "God be with us" in the original Hebrew. The Hebrews are asking the LORD to be with them, to come and rescue them. They will be lonely exiles wherever they go "Until the Son of God appears." They were strangers in the land of Egypt, and will remain as such until they receive the Promised Land.
Rejoice Israel! There is the everlasting promise of the Messiah. He has come! The LORD has given the Law to Moses on Mount Sinai, appearing in a cloud that awed all who saw it. The people are pleading God to bind mankind's heart and together with its broken self, to bring about the everlasting Peace that only He can bring.
The LORD has come. And the LORD will come. It is a prayer. It is a promise. It is a hope.

Boxes

So I'm an ISFJ. Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, Judging. I'm a Protector Guardian. I go about my task of caretaking modestly, unassumingly, and because of this my efforts are supposedly not sometimes fully appreciated. According to keirsey.com, my ideal job is as follows:
"With their extraordinary commitment to security, and with their unusual talent for executing routines, Protectors do well in many careers that have to do with conservation: curators, private secretaries, librarians, middle-managers, police officers, and especially general medical practitioners. To be sure, the hospital is a natural haven for them; it is home to the family doctor, preserver of life and limb, and to the registered nurse, or licensed practical nurse, truly the angels of mercy. The insurance industry is also a good fit for Protectors. To save, to put something aside against an unpredictable future, to prepare for emergencies-these are important actions to Protectors, who as insurance agents want to see their clients in good hands, sheltered and protected."
Well, I don't want to be a librarian. Or a middle-manager. Or a police officer, or a doctor. I've decided that I don't really like these types of classifications.
One of my favorite artists, Fabian Perez doesn't like to categorize his worke because it "limits the artist as well as the work." This is how I feel having personality tests or types put on me. It is limiting.

So then I think of God. What personality type would He be? What was Jesus? Was He the Protector Guardian, or was he something else? I sometimes treat God like one of my friends. I put Him in a nice little box and try not to let Him out. And then when He "acts out" or does something that I'm not expecting, it throws me off.
But why do I put the LORD in a box anyway? He is the one who created boxes, He created me. If He truly is the Creator of the Universe and everything within it, why would I want to put Him in a stupid little box? It's limiting. And dumb.

Let Jesus out of the box to play.

I Serve an Artistic God

My great-grandmother would be ashamed of me.
Grandma Bessy was as old as Methuslea-or so I though at the age of four. Wrinkely, grey-haired, and tall, she was a whopping 90 some-odd years old, not to mention a great cook. Anything and everything would be fried in bacon grease or lard. Once a month my family would drive the one hour to Orville, California, to see her and her husband.
Grandma Bessy was a Baptist of the strictest kind: no drinking, no dancing, no singin' too loud. She was horrified when she found out that Nyquil was 70 proof.
So why would she be ashamed of me? Well, dear reader, I'll tell you.
I danced in church. Yep. In church.
Calvary Chapel Petaluma has this thing called First Fridays. It is a nightime worship night on the frist Friday of every month. Pretty sweet if I do say so myself. So I was there, getting my song on, and I found myself moving. Its not a full-out wild jungle dance, more like a slight hopping and swaying to the music. I've found that its hard for me not to move whenever I hear music. Especially when I'm singing with all my heart.
I've decided there is nothing wrong about dancing. There is no Old Testament law that I am aware of that makes it wrong. King David danced when the Ark of the Covenant was brought to Jerusalem (2 Samuel 6). Pslam 150 says, "Praise him with trumpet sound; praise him with lute and harp! Praise him with timbrel and dance; praise him with strings and pipe!" I've decided that God is artistic.
So if I can dance and show my love for the LORD, why would it be different if I were to write a song about Him or to paint something that brought me to a closer relationship with Him? Is not our God a God of creativity? Did He not create the world and all that is in it? He made the sun to shine during the day and the moon at night, complete with beautiful sunrises and sunsets each time. If I paint a sunset with the LORD in mind, is that not worship?
My youth pastor Matt once said something that made me laugh. Only now do I understand what he was trying to say. He said, "Eat your Cherrioes with God in mind" (it was later modified to brushing your teeth with God in mind). Either way, if we are to laugh or to enjoy a good steak with the LORD in our minds and in our hearts, we still can worship the LORD. Is not even writing a form of worship? Speaking to others about God? Caring for the widows and the orphans? There is more than one way to skin a cat. There also is more than one way to worship a creative God.

Unsorted WHAT?

Dear Friends,

I know that you desperately look at my blog every day for some sort of insight, but this is all I've got for you today. Check out this blog. Maybe it will help. Or at least get a couple of laughs.

Love,
Tamsen

Musical Monday! Featured this Week: T-Pain Low

So I was sitting in my room the other day and one of my roommate's music was playing. To my horror, I found myself singing the lyrics to T-Pain's new hit Low. Here are the lyrics. I will translate after each line as needed.

T-Pain Low

H h h h h let
me to talk to ya
let me to talk to ya
mh h h h h let
me to talk to ya

come on
shortie had them apple bottom jeans (jeans)
*apple bottom jeans as defined on urbandictionary.com: Fashionable denim for women with voluptuous, curvaceous posteriors.*
boots with the fur (with the fur)
the whole club was lookin at her
she hit the floor (she hit the floor)
*Dance like wild*
next thing you know
shorty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low
*dropping low to the ground, bumping and grinding*

them baggy sweat pants
and the reboks with the straps (with the straps)
she turn around and gave that big booty a smack(heyyy)
*Oh yes, these really are the words*
she hit the floor (she hit the floor)
next thing you know
shorty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low (come on)

So right after these words emitted from my mouth, I was shocked at what I had just particpated in. I am a young woman who professes to follow the teachings of Jesus. Pretty sure that He would not want me to be listening to lyrics like that, much less singing them.
Even just to think about what they are saying-A man is in a club, sees a little hottie with a nice butt, and watches her voyeristically. Walks up to her in his gangster outfit (sweat pants and the Reboks with the straps), and spanks the girl. Way to objectify women.
So I'm not much of a feminist, the extent of my femininst philosophy agrees with Mary Woolstencraft and her Rights and Vindications of Women. To sum it up, she basically says that women were simply brainless breeders who were taught to think only of who they were to marry and what to wear the next day. On special occasions they would think about tea. This was the 18th Century, after all.
So what have today's women been reduced to? Yet again, they are mindless. But instead of being something pretty to look at, they are now something to play with. I am not a toy! I am more than a set of hips. I have a mind, feelings, and emotions. I prefer to be treated accordingly.
Sorry for getting all preacher on ya'll, but I feel that this is something that I have slipped into. Jesus said to be in the world but not of it. By listening to this song and singing along to the words, I have participated in it. The world and I were one. I have subjected myself to what the world thinks of me, forgetting what my Creator thinks.
So I encourage you, Dear Reader, to take into consideration what I have said. Go forth and clean out your music files. The next one I promise not to preach. :D