In Case of Fire, Break All Attachment to Material Possessions

I've been thinking a lot lately about the things that I own. Much of it has been a part of my journey to live more simplistically, but more recently it has been packing to move halfway across the country (Colorado, here I come!). My hope is that I can fit everything (including books, and sans furniture) into my car!

My thoughts have gone even further recently because of the fires that are happening in my future home state. California is no stranger to fire, but this time I know someone whose home was lost in the fires near Colorado Springs (they are dear friends of my future housemates Matt and Amber). The family was evacuated last week, and then on Monday or Tuesday they were allowed by police escort to go in and get what they would need for the next two weeks. I can only imagine what they were thinking as they riffled through their home.

If I were caught in a similar situation and could only bring 10-ish items with me, I would grab the following things:

1. My Oma's teacups. My Oma immigrated to the States in 1958 a few moths after marrying my Opa. Clearly, she didn't have much packing room, and brought very little with her. But a few years ago for Christmas, she bestowed upon me the two teacups that she brought over from Germany with her. I opened the box and saw them, not knowing their stories. But as I pulled them out, she explained. Every time I pack up to move, I always think of her and how brave she was to do such a crazy thing as fall in love, get married, and move across the world.

2. The toy box my dad built me. When we were kids, our dad built each of us a toy box. They didn't always serve as toy boxes--mine held junk for years, Sarah's and Kate's both were the phone and address book holders for a long time, and Megan's was chock-full of stuffed animals. I would happily sacrifice every bit of craft and fabric stuff that was in there currently to the fire, as long as I could keep the box.

3. My computer. This really has little sentimental value. It would just be a pain in the butt to replace. It really only gets on the list because I think past my car, it is the most expensive thing I own.

4. Snoopy. I remember getting Snoopy at three and a half. It was Christmas, and we were at Oma and Opa's house. I also had received a suitcase that year that said "Goin' to Grandma's!" on it, and I tried stuffing Snoopy in the suitcase (clearly, they should go to Grandma's together). But, try as I may, he would not fit, no matter how I shoved or squashed or sat. My uncle was sitting nearby laughing at me, and I got mad and quit. True confessions--I still sleep with a stuffed animal. I'm quite uncomfortable without him under my right arm.

5. My sewing machine. This also may be top of the list of expensive things that I own, and would be a pain in the butt to replace. And it's less than two years old!

6. My Tante Trita's necklaces. My great-aunt was an enthusiast of many things, and her adoring husband indulged her often. A few years after she passed away, her husband was cleaning house and was sending boxes and boxes of things to my Oma. She invited the granddaughters over to have at it. She had some of the most beautiful and unique jewelry that I have ever seen, and I would be very sad to lose it.

7. The box full of my old journals. Not very often do I go back and read them, but when I do it is always a bit embarrassing because I realize how self-centered I am. It's also funny to see the melodrama from high school and thank the Lord that I am (hopefully) over similar issues. Well, at least now I don't have to worry about my date to prom.

8. My Bible. My dear sister Kate got this for me on my 17th birthday. It's an ugly poop-brown color, and currently the spine is peeling itself away from the front cover. But the amount of time I have spend reading it, how my fingers know the roads to my favorite passages, the weight of it in my hand and on my lap, the coffee stains from when I spilled an entire cup on it in Costa Rica, nothing could ever replace the amount of comfort that precise Bible brings me. At one point in time, it had cheesy pictures of Jesus with children and lambs scattered throughout it, but one day I took a razor to it and cut them out. They were a little on the creepy side, and I got tired of looking at a white, blue-eyed Jesus. Apparently the artist forgot that Jesus was Middle-Eastern.

9. My box of old letters and cards. Much like my journals, I don't go back and read them often, but the times that I do mean a lot to me. They include the last birthday card my Grandma Barbara gave me before she passed away, one from one of my Freshman year roommates, various silly cards from my parents, birthday cards, etc.

10. Finally, down to the practical things. I would pack one large gym bag full of clothes and shoes. Which ones, you ask? Not sure. But then I could finally participate in the true Twenty Pieces Project. Now I'm in the 30-50 club. If there was a fire, I could totally do the 20.

Walking Alongside Abraham

Ever since graduating from college at the ripe old age of 21 in 2009, I have time and time again been memorized with the story of Abraham. The first time that I really dove into his journey was the fall of 2009. I was interning with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at Sonoma State and feeling a little lost. Not because I didn't find joy in what I did, but rather because it felt like after June of the upcoming year, I had no direction. When I would talk to my student leaders about the school part of their lives, when they would ask me to edit their papers the night before being due, when they would complain about having to go to class or doing a project last minute, I truly envied them. My heart so yearned to be in education, but I think my head just had a hard time figuring that out. The next few months I spend pouring over Abraham. The more I read about him, the more I realized that Abraham was only the start of something big. He was obedient to where the Lord called him, whether it be Haran, Gamorrah, or Egypt. His wife laughed when he told her of the promised son. But he remained faithful. In December of 2009, I attended InterVarsity's student missions conference, Urbana (I will shamelessly put in a plug for them now--if you have the chance, either go or volunteer at a conference. They really are life-changing). Through the mixture of my own reading of Abraham, the conference scripture study of John 1-4, and lots of prayer, I really felt like God was asking me to trust Him and leave Sonoma county. At this point, I had been there for five years. For the majority of the time, my friends were of the same group, and I had attended the same church. My world had been a little on the small side, and God was telling me it was time to head out and grow. Abraham and I got real close at this point--I was going without a destination or a time frame of when I was supposed to leave. We see that in Genesis 12 Abraham goes as the Lord tells him, and it was my desire to do the same. The past two and a half years have been spent in this haze--knowing that one day I will be leaving, not quite sure where to, and hopefully attending graduate school on my way. It is as if I was a ephemeral transient waiting for the wind to blow me somewhere else, but a mysterious tie would not let me move. Last year when all four of my roommates graduated and moved away, I ached to go with them. My feet got itchy to move, to have change. Clearly, it was not time. But, now it is. I have applied and been accepted to the University of Colorado at Denver, for the MA program in Rhetoric and the Teaching of Writing. My dreams of living in Denver and becoming a professor are on their way to becoming true! It all started to line up this past summer--I had two wonderful friends get hitched and move to Littleton, a suburb just outside of Denver. One day as I was sitting alone in my apartment, I was haphazardly researching MA program and this one came up. And really, it was like a dream come true. The next time I talked to my friends, I told them about the program and they told me that if I chose to go, I could live with them. People that I work with have connections with companies in Denver and are going to help me network for a job. My current roommates have someone who is wanting to fill my space in the house. My pastor has a connection with another pastor in Littleton who has offered to help me find a church. On top of all these things, my pastor had just started a sermon series on the Life of Abraham. It seemed like a very appropriate way to end my time in Sonoma County, as if my journey to find a destination, no matter how temporary it may be, has come full circle. The journey has both started and will end with Abraham's example of faith and trust in the Lord. May we all learn to be more like Abraham, but ultimately may he point the direction to Christ.

Twenty Pieces?! Are These People Crazy?!

My dear sister Kate knows me well. She knows that I:

-love simplicity
-am easily inspired
-probably have too many clothes for my own good
-am always up for a challenge

Thanks to her, I have a new project. Simplifying my closet.

Now, its not really all that bad. I had a four-drawer Rubbermaid "dresser" that I store exercise clothes, socks, t-shirts, shorts, and unmentionables in. My hanging clothes take up only half a closet, since I am 24 and still share a room (yes, by choice. I think having my own room gets lonely!). Oh, and did I mention my "dresser" fits in my closet, too? Yeah.

But Kate turned me onto the 20 Pieces Project. In their own words, "The Twenty Pieces Project is the newest endeavor of Julie Barrios and Cate MacDonald, two writers, spiritual directors, friends, and SoCal girls looking to live outside the siren song of materialism and consumerism." "The basic premise of the project is this: live for one year with only twenty items of clothing and no shopping."

Sounds crazy, right?

Apparently I am crazy. I figure, why the heck not? I'm all for living outside the siren song of materialism and consumerism. But I really do love clothes. I love fabric. The way it feels, the way it falls on a particular garment, the way that my favorite pair of jeans have been worn into one of the most perfect textiles on the face of the planet. I love the nostalgia that comes with various pieces of clothing. I still have a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts from Old Navy that I bought when I was a sophomore in high school (yup, that was 9 years ago). Then there is my often-coveted brown tweed coat that my friend Taylor told me she claimed dibs on if I were ever to bring it to a clothing exchange or give it up. I have a Boston Red Socks shirt from one of my college roommates, Danielle, who wore it the first week that we lived together and told me that she was going to move to Boston right after she graduated. And she did. And as she was packing to move, the shirt was in her dump pile. How could I let that one go? Does parting with these treasures mean parting with the memories associated with them? Am I sounding like a packrat yet?

Thankfully, the 20 Pieces Project is, much like the rest of my life, a process. I think that I would go crazy if I tried to cut my closet cold turkey. Anyway, I did my first clean out this week. Phase I looks like this:



(By the way, that is my favorite pair of jeans hanging out at the top of the pile. I figured I should probably keep ones that were in better shape and would actually last me a year.)

Believe it or not, there are 40 items in that pile.

6: t shirt
5: dress
4: each of jeans, tank tops
3: each of shorts, work shirts, over-sized t-shirts, skirts and longsleeve exercise shirts
2: workout pants
1: each of vest, PJ pants, jacket, sweater

Wow. I find it amazing that I am tossing out 40 items, and it wasn't nearly as hard as I anticipated the first round to be. I don't know if I can really bear down to the minimum of 20 items, but I would at least want to have the same number of clothes remaining in my closet as a final number be the same as the first round cleanup.

Goal: 40 items (or fewer) in my closet at the end of March. Updates to follow.

In the meantime, onward to simplicity.


-

Messiah

Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy. - Ludwig van Beethoven

Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything. - Plato

Music is the shorthand of emotion. - Leo Tolstoy

I listened to Handel's Messiah for the first time the summer after I graduated college. Sure, as a kid I made fun of the Hallelujah chorus, just like any other civilized (and slightly cultured) child would do, but I never had heard it in its entirety up until that point. But I have loved it since the moment I first listened to it. The beauty of the individual movements, as well as the piece as a whole, is one that has made itself a permanent home in my heart.


***True confessions: one of the only reasons I bought it was because I had a gift card. And because it was recommended to me by a guy I thought was cute***

Reasons to listen to Messiah:

1) It is more beautiful than any other thing I have heard.
2) Handle wrote it in an astonishing 24 days. Two hundred and fifty nine pages of sheet music in only 24 days.
3) It is a commentary on the person of Jesus--weaving together prophecy of his birth, his actual birth, life, death, and resurrection, and then culminating in His Glorification in Heaven.
4) It is an interactive piece--the audience stands at the beginning of the Hallelujah chorus. This is a tradition started (unbeknown to him) by King George II. There are various rumors of why he stood up during this piece. Some say that he was so inspired by the movement that standing in honor was the only way he could respond. Others say that it is because he may have fallen asleep, and that the drama of the movement literally roused him from his slumber in such a state that he was scared awake! But either way, when the King of England stands up, everyone stands up. Otherwise, heads will roll!
5) There really is no other piece of music that can inspire and comfort me as much as this one. The clear Biblical focus, the way that it always points people towards the Person of Jesus, the way that we are constantly reminded of the high cost of Grace and our deep need for Redemption, it truly is a piece that was inspired by the Holy Spirit.

If you want, you can listen to Messiah in its entirety here (thank you, NPR). I have also found it helpful to read the lyrics. :)

Resolutions, Etc.

Re:solve (verb)
-to deal with successfully; clear up
-to reach a firm decision about

Re:solve (noun)
-fixity of purpose

Let's talk about New Year's resolutions, folks.



Each year millions of Americans make resolutions. I think its an integral part of our nature as humans to change and to grow. It is something that we want. We want to be better people, we want to grow, we will always want what is better. Perhaps this is just a way for people to do it. When New Year's comes around, the mob mentality kicks in. Imagine if every human on the planet resolves to do some self-betterment starting January 1st. How's that for social pressure?

New year's resolutions are not a new tradition, I recently found out. In fact, according to one of the first sites that popped up on my Google search told me that it has been going on as since the times of the Romans. January is named after the god Janus, who reportedly is the patron and protector of beginnings and endings (among other things like bridges, arches, and doors....arches...really?). These Roman resolutions generally made with a moral code: to be good to one another.

When the Puritans were around in New England, they put a little different of a spin on it--those who made resolutions made them in order to better their talents or to stay away from their sins of choice (or habit, whatever you want to call it). Not too far off of our current day resolutions! Flossing, learning how to read music, getting off our butts and hitting the gym, etc. All good things, right?

My dad has the same resolution every year--to not make a resolution. Witty. I worked with a gal in high school who took an attribute of God and focused on that for the year (patience, generosity, forgiving, just, etc.). I liked that a lot, and actually did it for a few years myself. One of my roommates has made about 1,000,006 resolutions for this year--to walk the dog every day for 15 minutes, to eat less sweets, so on and so forth. These are all good things!

On January 1st I sat next to a woman in church who, the past few years, has gone through some severe health issues that have affected her in ways that I'm sure that many of us could only imagine. And yet she is present each week with a grin on her face and joy in her heart. She truly is a gem. Anyway, we were small talking about how late each of us had stayed up the night before. I shamelessly admit that a retired woman in her mid sixties beat me in this competition by an hour and a half. I causally asked her if she had made any resolutions (it sounded like a safe enough question at the time. Boy was I wrong!). Her answer floored me.

She turned to look at me full in the face. "Honey," she said, "ever since I got sick, I realized that every day is a resolution. Every day I get to choose to follow the Lord. Life is a resolution."

Wow.

Life is a resolution.

That shakes me. Every day I have the opportunity to resolve to follow after Jesus. I am sure that, in one way or another, I [consciously or subconsciously] make that choice; but the way that she put it--a resolution every day--shifts the paradigm. Resolving, every day, to put one foot in front of the other, following the path to the cross.

And yet, is that not the life of someone who follows Jesus?

The next day he saw Jesus coming to him and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is He on behalf of whom I said, ‘After me comes a Man who has a higher rank than I, for He existed before me.’ I did not recognize Him, but so that He might be manifested to Israel, I came baptizing in water.” John testified saying, “I have seen the Spirit descending as a dove out of heaven, and He remained upon Him. I did not recognize Him, but He who sent me to baptize in water said to me, ‘He upon whom you see the Spirit descending and remaining upon Him, this is the One who baptizes in the Holy Spirit.’ I myself have seen, and have testified that this is the Son of God. John 1:29-34

[I Can't Get Enough of] Sojourn

Definition of SOJOURN
intransitive verb
: to stay as a temporary resident : stop — so·journ·er (noun)

Seriously people. Sojourn.

A temporary stay, to be someone who stays temporarily, or also as someone who makes fantastic music. You can stream all (yes people, ALL!) of their albums here.

Sojourn is a worship band based out of a church in Louisville, Kentucky. Honestly, I would consider making a trip to Kentucky just to see these guys and give them a personal "thank you" for being so fantastic. They have almost ruined all other Christmas albums with their one titled Advent Songs. Sojourn is a folk-pop mix which sometimes dabbles in the realm of the Transiberian Orchestra. It really is like nothing else I've heard.

But don't take my word for it! Listen to them yourself.

My current top five are:

Approach My Soul, the Mercy Seat

Amen, Amen

Before the Throne

Joy to the World

Lead Us Back


May the lyrics and music of Sojourn be as wonderful to you as it has been to me. I honestly do not think that I can even begin to explain how much good these musicians have done for my soul and the ways that they have pointed me towards Jesus. May they also do the same for you.

A Day at the Beach

The Crazy Woman in the Fabric Store

All my sisters and I have a deep love for fabric stores. Our mother is very crafty and an excellent seamstress, and as a result we spend many waking hours of childhood in Joanne's, House of Fabric, and Beverly's. Every time I walk into a fabric store, the musty textile smell brings back a wave of nostalgia--running around like maniacs down the isles touching everything I could because it was the only store that I was allowed to do so. Fabric stores were (and still are) some of my favorites to go to simply because it is socially acceptable for me to touch everything in the store.

But this week when I visited the local Joanne's Fabrics, I'm fairly sure that if I were to be seen by the average person, they would have thought I was crazy. Literally. Picture this:

I'm dressed fairly normal. I had gone right after I got home after work, and didn't change, so I was wearing khaki pants, a nice shirt, and wedge shoes. I was on the hunt for some snuggly, soft fabric to back a quilt I am making for a friend (I want it to be so fabulous that people fight over who gets it while watching movies). I beeline it to the quilting section, because I need a few more fat quarters. As soon as I arrive, I immediately am shocked at the variety that was not there three days before. I literally let out a small gasp, and start muttering to myself about how many more purple and green prints there are now. Then my eye catches a fabulous ecru and scarlet zebra print, and I almost have a fit trying to think of what I could make out of that. After more fussing, I decide that I can't think of anything yet and it will be there waiting for me at a later date.

I move to the flannels, to see if there is anything good there. There sure is! But NO WAY will I pay $13.99 a yard unless I have a coupon. Unfortunately, my 40% off coupon is for everything BUT fabric. Of course it is.

I saunter over to the terrycloth, because there is a bolt that looks particularly soft. I continue to run my hands over all the fabrics in the line, feeling the weave and the threads with every step I take. O Fabric, how I love thee!

Then I see the clearance shelves. Bolt after bolt of fabric is just lying there in a huge pile, waiting to be unearthed and discovered and used! My purse falls from my hand, and the top of the quilt that was brought with to match was dropped quicker than a hot iron. I have to look! My lips start moving quickly as I gasp, ooh, and aaaah over the beautiful textiles. Oh man. If only I could take a month of to do nothing but sew!

I find a knit that is textured quite nicely, and I can't complain at the price--$6 a yard instead of $14! Yes please. I wander off with a few extra bolts in my hand, but as I am standing in line at the cutting table, I decide I don't really have the time for this fabric. So i return it to the clearance pile.

I get my steal of a deal fabric cut, and I walk up to the counter to pay. My hand feels a little bit more empty than it should...GASP! I put the quilt top down somewhere! AAAAHHHHH I rush back to the clearance table and scramble until I find it--nicely placed on top of the bolt that I didn't have enough time for. I laughed aloud at my good fortune (not like anyone would have taken it anyway), and practically skipped back to the counter.

So the next time you are in a store and see someone acting a little crazy, don't think less of them. Just come with me to a fabric store and you will understand a little bit better.

Late Night Musings

Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if I didn't grow up in California, rather a less popularized state like Nevada.

I have glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of my bedroom left over from the two young boys (both under the age of 10) who occupied the room before me. I like these stars.

If farmers traditionally rose with the sun before alarm clocks were around, did that mean that those who farmed in places like the greater Bay Area got more sleep because the marine layer doesn't burn off until 10AM?

Life would be very different without text messaging. Perhaps in good ways. I think sometimes it can disconnect me even more from people; although at the same time I can be "connected" with someone, I cannot hear the inflection or tone of their voice, nor see there eyes, thus further distancing myself from what they truly are communicating. I would like to be more intentional about calling friends instead of text messaging them, even if this ironically seems inconvenient or too forward. But I will happily admit, I loooove the fact that I can send pictures to people. Now that is fun.

MSN had an article recently on building a house for $20k. Yes, for only $20k. Its no Taj Mahal, but really, who needs that anyway? What would it look like if we took a more minimalistic approach to life and put our funds towards things that helped expand the gospel? See the article here.

Potlucks may be one of my favorite type of gatherings. You get to share some fabulous food with a bunch of people you enjoy, and all the while you get to a) judge if they are good or creative in the kitchen and b) experience some new food. Both of which are excellent experiences to have. I get to go to one tomorrow. I still have yet to decide what to bring.

One of my sisters has been in The Gambia for almost a month now. I wrote her a card this week, and it took me all that I could not to write I miss you in the middle and nothing else. I told her a funny story about our mom instead. She probably wouldn't cry when she reads that, and I didn't have to cry writing it.

Now its bedtime. Goodnight.

Thoughts on Communion

Last summer, I switched churches. I applied for a position to direct Life Groups (bible studies, small groups, etc.) at a church, and in the process was accepted and have been there since (I still think its crazy the hired a 23 year old).

I love this church. I think I could go on and on and on and on until we are all as old as Methuselah as to why is is so fabulous, but I will spare you of that. One of these things is the fact that we take communion every week.

My first time at the church, before I was hired, I thought I just happened to come on Communion Sunday. From what I can remember, the church I grew up in did not participate in the sacrament of communion on a regular basis--only once or twice outside of youth group can I remember taking it. But, let's be honest, it could have been because I just simply wasn't paying attention. Either way, the church I went to in college only took it once a month, and I truly did believe that to be sufficient. When I went to my new church and discovered that every week was Communion Sunday, I was a little thrown off.

These were my thoughts: "How on earth am I supposed to take it seriously if we don't make something special about it? Once a month is more that sufficient." "Communion is based loosely off of Passover and the Feast of the Atonement, and they only took it once a YEAR for centuries (I may be over exaggerating on the time frame here). Why do we need to even change that?" And, of course, "If I do it every week, won't that take a way from the reflection portion?"

Ah, how foolish I was.

Honestly, I wish I took it every day. Each before the trays are passed, a deacon or a church elder gives a sermonette to set the tone as the congregation is about to partake in the sacraments. Each week it varies on what is spoken on; sometimes it is simply a reading of the scripture and a small commentary, it has been a short poem about Christ, or it has been a story of how the Lord continually provides grace and mercy upon us each day. After listening, we share in the elements while the piano plays. Each week I fail not to be overwhelmed of the grace that we have with God through Jesus. Each week I am deeply reminded of the meaning of his sacrifice and how much I desperately need it. Each week is a time of reflection, repentance, and renewal. "And and best of it is, God is with us."

"And finally Brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is good, if there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise, dwell on these things. Now the things you have learned and heard and received and seen in me, practice these things and the God of Peace will be with you," Philipians 4:8,9