Wow.  The ability to post a blog from a widget on my iBook dashboard...

If you don't understand what I just said, you're a PC user and should repent.  But then, as a PC user, you probably already do.  Every day.

Have a lovely day.

Double-Edged Sword

Lesson learned: blog posts about chapters from the book of Numbers don't get comments.

Heathens.

Well, today I sat in on a lecture on spiritual warfare by Mariette Louw. Let me draw you a picture of this fine woman. She reminds me a little of Ursula, the sea witch from The Little Mermaid...but only in form and voice. She has a rich South African accent (somehow scripture sounds better with rolled "r"s), a booming, surround-sound voice, and is the dearest women...but she scares the crap out of me. She teaches students about the Word of the Lord being a double-edged sword, but I've never been so aware of its double-edgedness as when I'm sitting mere feet away from Mariette. I kind of feel like I'm going to get my head hacked off. And I love it.

I was sitting at the back of the classroom, behind the DTS students, when she invited me to sit closer.

"Do you like sitting back there?" she stopped the lecture to ask me.
"No, it's fine, actually...it's just...I'm a visitor..." I stammered, kind of freaked out that my thinly applied nonchalance wasn't working.
"Well, come up here then."
I started towards a seat in the second row when she pointed out a seat in the front row. Front row, center. She added, "But it takes those with special courage to sit in the front row."
So I sat in the front row.
"I know your face," she peered at me.
"Um, yes, from six years ago. You spoke on my DTS."
"Ah. I thought I recognized you."

Great. Impeccable spiritual discernment and a razor-sharp memory. I just hope she doesn't remember the punk I was at 19. Or discern the punk that I am now. Or at least have grace for either/or/both.

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than exposure."

Helen Keller

I am filled with the knowledge of His will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding.
I live a life worthy of the Lord and will please Him in every way.
I bear fruit in every good work.
I am growing in the knowledge of God.
I am strengthened with all power according to His glorious might.
I have great endurance and patience.
I joyfully give thanks to the Father.
I have been qualified to share in the inheritance of the saints of the kingdom of light.

(Colossians 1:9-12 with spiritual authority added, a la Mariette...changes things, doesn't it?)

The Transjordan Tribes (Numbers 32)

Hard thoughts today.

I've been reading Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy recently (riveting, I know...) and tracking the "stiff-necked" Israelites through miles of deserts and not a few catastrophes, brought on, almost entirely, by their complaints about food or by their unbelief. I guess that could be boiled down to two all-too-human sentiments: "God, you're not good enough" and "God, you're not big enough". Tell me those don't sound familiar to you.

Their big, good God finally does bring them to the Promised Land after alotting enough time for a generation to completely die out. You'd think they'd echo Moses' passion to just peak into the Promised Land (which he wasn't allowed to set foot in because of his own disbelief...seems like no one is exempt...):

Moses: "Let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan - that fine hill country and Lebanon."
God: "Go up to the top of Pisgah...Look at the land with your own eyes, since you are not going to cross this Jordan."

But the tribe of Reuben, the tribe of Gad and half of the tribe of Manasseh thought that the land east of Jordan looked OK to them. Logically, it also made sense:

Reuben, Gad & Manasseh: "The land(s)...are suitable for livestock, and your servants have livestock."

Lots of space, lots of livestock. Handy, but was it God's promise to them? Weren't they giving up their God-given inheritance, the Land Flowing with Milk and Honey, the land promised to their forefathers, for fields just short of Canaan's border? I wonder why? Were they tired of traveling? I could relate to that. Did they think it efficient and prudential to take land outside of Canaan, and therefore "giving" more land to the nine and a half other tribes on the other side? Did the Jordan look too deep to cross? Were they holding on to the fears of their fathers that the Canaanites were "giants" with "walled cities"?

At first Moses reprimanded them strongly:

Moses: "If you turn away from following [the LORD], he will again leave all this people in the desert, and you will be the cause of their destruction."

But finally relents, after he makes them promise to help the other tribes win the Promised Land. Would they have ignored this responsibility if Moses didn't remind them? Is it easier to leave the fighting to others once you have found somewhere suitable, comfortable, logical and comfortable to settle?

I get frustrated with the strong desire to settle in "lands suitable for livestock". Career choices that make sense, marrying for comfort, 5-, 10-, and 20-year goals... Sometimes the promises God has given me (and the instruction to "possess" them which, I suppose, would be disobedience to go against) seem vague, flighty, too amazing to be true ("God, you're not good enough"), and too difficult to attain ("God, you're not big enough"). But if I settle on this side of my Promised Land, without pushing through, I'll never get to see what God had in store for me.

I also discovered that Israel no longer holds the land east of the Jordan River.

Tell them Scotland is free

After an incredible, three-hour train journey from York to Glasgow (if you have the time and inclination, I recommend that you always travel by train in the UK...especially if you're from North America...there's nothing like looking out of a train window to see, oh, a CASTLE on a random hill) I have arrived. YWAM Seamill. For a period of time, I had Seamill's Arran Lounge as my desktop picture when I worked at the Television Bureau of Canada. Now, I drink tea in the Arran Lounge.

I can feel a shift when I travel past England's borders. Now I want to be careful in addressing this phenomenon becaue I love England and have many English friends but, spiritually and emotionally-speaking, I feel more free in Ireland and Scotland. I always have. Maybe it's due to my distant Scottish/Irish heritage. Maybe, as a Canadian, I feel an affinity with people groups who live in the shadow and dominance of bigger, stronger, more well-known countries.

In any case, Scotland is just as gorgeous as I left it, almost six years ago. Seamill makes a good example of rugged, Scottish beauty: within view of a glen, a river, the ocean, the Island of Arran, and a small mountain range. My family is coming to visit in a few days, and I'm really not sure who will be more excited, my 13-year-old brother or my dad.

Starting somewhere

Dear Friend,

Today, I became part of an unprecedented global call to action to end poverty: Make Poverty History

Right now, there is active campaigning in over 50 countries around the three core demands: More and Better Aid, Make Trade Fair, and Cancel the Debt. In Canada, we're also campaigning to End Child Poverty in Canada.

You've just got to be a part of this campaign.

Go to http://www.makepovertyhistory.ca and sign on to the campaign yourself.

There is no time to lose. It doesn't matter who or where you are, your voice is critical to the success of this campaign. This is a rare chance to join me and thousands of others across the planet to once and for all make poverty history.

What are you waiting for? Join me and click in!

Sarah Aubrey Hunter

What you can do right now:

• Sign on to the campaign
• Tell federal MPs other politicians to commit to a timeline for 0.7%
• Click others into action - forward this message to your networks

"If everyone who wants to see an end to poverty, hunger and suffering speaks out, then the noise will be deafening. Politicians will have to listen."
- Archbishop Desmond Tutu

Injustice

I just finished watching The Constant Gardener.

Before you read any further, go out, rent it, watch it. Then we can continue.

I've watched my share of save-the-world movies recently including Spy Game at Shay's, LOTR trilogy at King's Lodge, and Good Night, and Good Luck at the FACT theatre in Liverpool last night. Fighting against multi-million dollar pharmaceutical companies, fighting against compromised FBI agencies, fighting against McCarthy's anti-communist regime, fighting against Mordor...

My brother (who, honestly, will probably never know of the publicity he gets on this blog...because he doesn't have the link...because he hates blogs) and I just had this conversation the other evening:
[his MSN tag line was "real pissed at injustice"]
Me: what injustice?
He: I dunno - I feel like being a superhero
Me: cool. me too.
He: damn life is too unjust
Me: i know. i agree.
think of anything to fight?
yet?
He: injustice
generally
Me: that's kind of broad, no?
He: nah
whever I see it - I'll just start dueling out the punches
Me: good call.
how's school?
He: injust

Don't we all feel the push? As complacent and as comfortable as North American life has become, don't we still feel injustice lurking in the shadows?

Sometimes I don't even feel like getting out of bed, let alone fighting injustice. But I can do something, can't I? When Jesus tells me to, when he shows me injustice, I can chose to "duel out the punches", can't I?

Hands
By: Jewel

If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
We are God's hands
We are God's hands

"This is the kind of fast day I'm after:
to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed,
cancel debts.
What I'm interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families."

(Isaiah 58, the Message)


JUSTIN:
There are millions of people.
They all need help.
That's what the agencies are here for.

TESSA:
Yeah, but these are three people that we can help.

O brave new world!

It has recently been brought to my attention that the following write up of my blog is posted on an anonymous person's blog review page:

Sarah Aubrey Hunter's blog. Rarely updated because she's too busy.

Atrocious, name-sullying fiend!

I recently indulged in a two hour argument with my brother, over MSN, about blogging. He hates it. I heart it. His stance is that people should not be given the means with which to pollute the internet with the innane details of their trivial life, or indulge their illusions of grandeur that *someone* will one day discover their bleeding bit of poetry and they will become famous, etcetera. I had to agree with a lot of what he said but, as a blogger, I could not, you see, agree with all of it.

He also hates the term "blogger".

I once read a hilarious (but *so* not what your mother would want to you to read, I can't bring myself to link to it...give me an email and I'll pass the info along) critique of the words blogging, blogger, blogged, blogosphere, blogomania, blogroll, blogshare, blogstorm, blog swarm, blogging community, blawg, blogumentary, blogebrity, photoblog, warblog, warblogger, warblogging, webmistress, trackback, travelblog, friendblog, watchblog, videoblog, and the like, entitled, "If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide". It begins:

Blogger: Term used to describe anyone with enough time or narcissism to document every tedious bit of minutia filling their uneventful lives. Possibly the most annoying thing about bloggers is the sense of self-importance they get after even the most modest of publicity. Sometimes it takes as little as a referral on a more popular blogger's website to set the lesser blogger's ego into orbit.

And gets progressively more colourful (and I'm not talking prism) from there.

It all makes me think of something my mother once said, which was apocolypic, in her usual way: "I wonder why this generation is fixated with the trend of writing down their own personal histories? I wonder what it means, prophetically?"

Are we all egomaniacs? Perhaps. Are we filling the void that was once filled by community and in-depth, in-depth conversations with our family members and friends, over long meals, long journeys, and long evenings by candlelight? Most likely.

Lunch with Lewis

That's right. I woke up early this morning, caught a ride into Nuneaton, asked for the cheapest return ticket to Oxford, and managed to locate 49 St. Giles Street - The Eagle & Child pub (or "The Bird & Baby" to legendary authors, Clive Staples Lewis and John Ronald Reuel Tolkien). The two were members of an unofficial club called the "Inklings", which met on Tuesdays at the pub. I will draw your attention to the fact that I visited it on a Tuesday.

I was nearly peeing myself with excitement on the train, which traveled through Coventry (home to famous actor, Clive Owen, and my good friend Jessica Morris), en route to Oxford. I reached The Bird & Baby just in time for lunch. And so, in the pub that birthed writing far better than I could ever dream of accomplishing, I read the rest of Red Moon Rising by Pete Greig, sipped on my pint and wrote down some inspired thoughts in my journal. Interestingly enough, as had been wondering if I could "pick up" on any leftover genius in the air from Lewis and Tolkien, God used the opportunity to speak, quite clearly, to me regarding what I should be doing with YWAM in Toronto when I return. It has been a memorable day.

This was the best Valentine's Day I have ever experienced, in fact.*

* Sorry, Kate - any year in Montreal would be a close second. (I'm pretty sure that your Valentine's this year beat Montreal as well...and I won't hold it against you.)

Dark have been my dreams of late.

I watched all three extended editions of Lord of the Rings in a row yesterday. I laughed, I cried, I remembered university, I fell in love with Faramir all over again...

What struck me most, however, was not Faramir's lovely eyes but how many times prophetic (OK, "future-shaping", to be P.C.) words were used; both good and evil used them to their advantage, and to their destruction.

The palantir (seeing stone) brought a false strength to Saruman, despair to Denethor, and a threat to Aragorn, but it's interesting to notice that none of what these characters expected happened. Saruman did not end up ruling Middle Earth on as Sauron's right-hand man, Denethor's city did not fall, and Arwen was not taken from Aragorn. Galadriel's pool was the same - a warning, only, of what would happen to the Shire if Frodo failed in his mission. Gandalf told the Balrog that "he shall not pass" and, technically, the Balrog never did. The Mouth of Sauron told Gandalf and Aragorn that Frodo had already died, but he hadn't. Etcetera.

I also noticed how often characters would "recite" prophetic words, whether they believed them or not, whether they helped their case or not, in times of trouble. Gandalf especially repeated the words "I have failed Frodo" often, which was a repetition of what Saruman had spewed at him, trapped and overpowered, from Isengaard. Gandalf took as prophecy, or truth, what was really just a reflection of what he feared most...and Saruman knew to exploit.

So where am I going with this...? [moment to regroup] Why do horoscopes "come true"? Why do high profile Christian "prophets" name and claim things that never happen? Where is the power of an All-Seeing, All-Knowing, Ever-Present God in the midst of a world consumed by the black, billowing heat of heartache and sin and depression and lonliness and hate?

Despite Gandalf's strenth and wisdom, Aragorn's heritage, Frodo's destiny, Denethor's position, Saruman's power, and Elrond's experience the two characters despaired the least were Arwen and Sam. An Elf princess who was being herded of into a ship for half the story, and a simple-minded Hobbit gardener. Arwen knew the ancient prophecies and stuck to them, claiming time and time again, "There is still hope." Sam made promise and stuck to it, loyaly following Frodo into Mordor. We often speculate that Frodo could not have successfully destroyed the ring without Aragorn's diversion at the Black Gate - but where would either of them be without Sam and Arwen?

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth...

Simple faith, simple loyalty, simple hope, simple love. Simply the only way to see past the present is to believe that there is a future - not necessarily one that the church tells us about, or what atheists tell us about, or what our horoscope tells us about - but one that is "immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us."

FRODO: I can’t do this, Sam.

SAM: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened.

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.

Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

FRODO: What are we holding on to, Sam?

SAM: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

Holy Communion

I attend one of the most spiritually radical churches Canada (perhaps the world) can boast, and I love it. It's when boasting itself becomes an issue that my stomach churns.

Today, I attended a Church of England (Anglican, to us Canadians) church in Nuneaton, called All Saints' Church, and was again struck by how the Spirit moves me when I sit in on a more traditional service. I used to visit St. Paul's Anglican, on Bloor Street in Toronto, with my great aunt Dodie when I was quite young. I distinctly remember being overwhelmed by the sound of the organ, bouncing off of the cold stone walls and up through the vaulted ceiling. When I was too young to take communion, Dodie would bring me up to the communion bench so that her priest and personal friend, Father Freeland, could pray a blessing over me. Later, Father Freeland was with us when we mourned Dodie's death in the same church, on a rainy day in March.

When my family and I moved to the Beach in Toronto we made St. Saviour's Anglican our home church for a number of months, in part to support Jess Cantelon, the youth pastor there at the time, and also to be a part of the intercession and community outreach that this small church was instigating in our neighbourhood. It was in that church that we met the Sunday following 9/11 to share our emotions and pray together for New York.

This morning, at All Saints', I was reminded of the "Anglican era" of my family's church-hopping and it made me grow quite protective of older, more traditional churches and denominations. If we are joint heirs with Jesus, and all of us are siblings, than I would suppose I was growing as defensive of Anglicanism, as an "older sibling" of mine, as I would of a natural-born sibling.

The words of the Book of Common Prayer, read this morning:

Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open,
all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid;
Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit...

Are they not Biblical? Do they not echo the lyrics of our contemporary worship songs?

And this hymn, written by by John S.B. Monsell (1811-1875):

Fight the good fight With all thy might;
Christ is thy Strength and Christ thy Right.
Lay hold on life, and it shall be
Thy joy and crown eternally.

Run the straight race Thro' God's good grace;
Lift up thine eyes and seek His face.
Life with its way before us lies;
Christ is the Path and Christ the Prize.

Cast care aside; Upon thy Guide
Lean, and His mercy will provide;
Lean, and the trusting soul shall prove
Christ is its Life and Christ its Love.

Faint not nor fear, His arms are near;
He changeth not, and thou art dear.
Only believe, and thou shalt see
That Christ is All in all to thee.

Does that not show us the gospel, in a glance? "Cast care aside; upon thy Guide lean, and His mercy will provide." Nice.

Attending an Anglican church regularly would drive me nuts, eventually, because it's not my launguage or my culture. I have a nosering, I brought a tea into service ("It's probably the first time someone has done that," Becky informed me.), I prefer the vaulted ceilings of the Avalon club of New York to worship, but I'm just the younger sibling.

Now hear ye hear ye want to see Thee more clearly
I know he hear me when my feet get weary
And bring the day that I'm dreaming about
Next time I'm in the club everybody screaming out
Jesus walks, Jesus walks with me
- Kanye West ("Jesus Walks")

Little Red Riding Hood

You should all be used to my bargain basement, self-psychoanalysis by now and, if not, this will make an excellent introduction.

It started with this picture, which I decided to entitle "Little Red Riding Hood", thanks to the wool and fur coat I got in Korea which has now become my signature winter look (and it matches my luggage). But the idea of Red Riding Hood wouldn't get out of my head, nor the song with the same title, nor the lyrics of said song:

Owoooooooo!
Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?
Why, it's Little Red Riding Hood.
Hey there Little Red Riding Hood,
You sure are looking good.
You're everything a big bad wolf could want.

Then I recalled a conversation I had with Anderson and Ken, at YWAM Sam's Inn in Amsterdam, three weeks ago. I had been describing the ideal man, in my own opinion, to these two learned, married guys and Ken began to poke fun. "So," he said, "you like the 'tortured, lonely, rebel' types, do you?"

No. No, I don't. I proceded to come up with a list of perfectly decent characters from books and movies that I like, but Heathcliff in Wutherine Heights, X-Men's Wolverine, Commodus in Gladiator (no, I'm not joking), Hamlet ("Are you serious?" protested Ken. "He's such a whiner."), Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre and Batman/Bruce Wayne didn't really bail me out. Dark men, dark pasts..."tortured, lonely, rebel" types.

Those who know me well won't be surprised by this conclusion, in fact, they've been telling me all along. However, to realize, at the age of 25, that you still fancy the Idealistic Dark Knight (I mean, really, would Wolverine make a good father?) is a bit of a blow.

So I decided to come up with a few good qualities of these characters:

• They are not affected or persuaded by what society dictates.
• They are not shallow.
  
• They chose to love women who are intelligent and strong-willed.
• They love those women with fierce loyalty.

Perhaps I'm only trying to convince myself. Perhaps I'm tired of chasing desperados. Tortured, lonely rebels don't always have room to spare to love someone else as much as they love their own tortured, lonely, rebellious selves.

And besides, the first and only literary and cinematic man to steal my heart is Gilbert.

DIANA: Don't you ever mean to get married?
ANNE: Perhaps. If I meet the right one.
DIANA: What about Gilbert?
ANNE: Gilbert's just a chum. I don't care for him that way. You know what my ideal is, Diana.
DIANA: Tall, irresistibly handsome, proud, and melancholy. But people's ideals change sometimes.
ANNE: Mine wouldn't. And I wouldn't care for any man who didn't fulfill them.
DIANA: What if you never meet him?
ANNE: Then I shall die an old maid.

London Boiler Room

Click here to go to the City of London Boiler Room's blog.

Nuns on the River

Apparently, that's what the name "Nuneaton" stands for. Nuns. On a river. There used to be a covent in the area...near a river, I presume... The details are all pretty foggy, as I was told them yesterday, in a car, en route to the YWAM King's Lodge base after a full day of travel, meetings, and waiting around Euston station, London, for three and a half hours.

I also now know why it's called "luggage". I did more lugging over the past three days than I ever wanted to accomplish in a lifetime. I have huge muscles now. I'm a tank.

Staying with Sarah was, so far, the highlight of my trip to the UK - not merely because I was downtown London (and, as we all know, I heart the city) but because of how strongly God managed to (again) hijack my carefully scheduled plans and surprise me with gifts, dreams, visions, prayer, coincidences, and information. Scrumptious.

After visiting with Mark, Paul and Neil in Kingston (involved with something called Street Pastors in Kingston, as well as a few other incredible community-oriented initiatives) on Thursday, I took a train, subway, and another train to Nuneaton...with a three and a half hour stopover at Euston station, London. Ask me how unfun that was.

Now, at King's Lodge, I'm doing a lot of what I was doing at Holmsted which is a whole lot of nothing. Well, productively speaking. I'm responding to emails, loading pictures (check out my site for the London album, recently added), journalling, and praying.

London Calling

I've moved yet again. I'm now situated in the region of Earl's Court tube station, central London. I'm staying with a great girl named Sarah Smith, whom I just met last Saturday. I have yet to meet Mark Rodger, who "introduced" us (via email) - that, most likely, will take place on Thursday in Kingston. Such is my current state of transience. I heart it!

The following has occurred in the past 24 hours:

• I departed Shay and Duncan's home in Roehampton to catch the bus and subway to Old Street tube station.
• I located the London Boiler Room [aside: if you are not already aware of the 24/7 Prayer movement that is currently rocking the UK, please take a moment now to school yourself]. Get this: it's on the corner of Worship and Tabernacle streets, down the road from The Prophet and The Angel pubs, and in the general area that John Wesley was when God stirred things up in the 18th century...God has a sense of humour, hm?
• I was able to meet with Jude Smith, the "abbess" of the London Boiler Room, over tea, to discuss the push we have both been feeling (and the similarities between TACF, 24/7 Prayer, and YWAM's new visions). Jude's quote: "Aslan's on the move." Nicely put.
• Sarah Smith, two others named Sandy (works for London's clubbing industry) and Simon, and myself joined in prayer for the clubbing prayer/worship dream that God has put on Sarah's heart and many others'. Lots of confirmations, shared sentiments, identical verses, and other links. God is so creative and amazing!
• Sarah and I came back to her apartment (where I will be staying until Thursday) and, as I was getting ready for bed, she tucked a copy of Pete Greig's book Red Moon Rising, which I was told about by Rhonda Puddle (get THIS: Rhonda works at and attends TACF, and I know her from YWAM Cambridge...is this fun, or what?) just days before I left for the UK, under the blankets of the spare bed for me. Inscription: "To Sarah H, with much love from Sarah S". Did I mention that I just met Sarah three days ago?
• I then discovered that the foreward in Red Moon Rising was written by...Floyd McClung. Renowned YWAMer. I had to laugh.

Exhausted, after having lugged my suitcase up three flights of stairs (66 steps...I counted today) to Sarah's flat, I fell asleep completely overwhelmed by the wonder and excitement of the life God has blessed me with.

Have fun clicking on all those links!

Blog Tag

Sweeping the blogging nation....

4 jobs I have held:

1. Hostess for a fancy Italian restaurant in the Beaches, Toronto. Fun job, until one of the employees approached me asking for a loan in order to skip town to Mexico in order to avoid the cops who were after him in regards to a deal involving fire arms and plutonium.
   
2. Worked at a bakery. It went under. Was hired by another bakery. It, too, went under. Decided I was bad luck for bakeries.
   
3. Event Coordinator for the Television Bureau of Canada.
   
4. TESL teacher for Korean children.
   

4 movies I can watch over and over:

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
   
2. Amelie
3. Anne of Green Gables
   
4. The Matrix
   

4 places I have lived:

1. Newmarket, Ontario.
   
2. West Sussex, England.
   
3. India.
4. Pyongchon, South Korea.
   

4 TV shows I love to watch:

1. Friends
2. Sex & The City (don't judge me...I love the fashion...and Aidan Shaw)
   
3. Seinfeld
4. Lost
   

4 places I have been on vacation:

1. New York, New York.
   
2. Montreal, Quebec.
   
3. Frenchtown, New Jersey.
   
4. Fort Myers, Florida.

Strange how the countries I go to for ministry purposes are much more exotic than the places I go for "vacation"...

4 of my favourite dishes:

1. Swiss Chalet chicken.
   
2. Pad thai.
   
3. Sushi (yes, AJ, raw fish is where it's at...).
   
4. Big, thick, fat, juicy steak.
   

4 websites I like to visit daily:

1. Google.
   
2. Nik's blog.
   
3. Andrea's blog.
   
4. apple.com/trailers
   

4 places I would rather be right now:

1. Queen Street West, Toronto.
   
2. On the beach of Koh Samet, Thailand.
   
3. In my kitchen with my mom, drinking tea.
   
4. In Kate's car, driving...anywhere.
   

4 people I am tagging:

1. Andrea Schaaf.
2. Nikolas Delic.
   
3. Andrew Rennie.
4. You.

Leave a comment here of your blog link if you end up doing this...it will be fun to read others' answers.

Go together like a horse and carriage...

Love and marriage. Children. More children. It's all quite nice to say, think, even feel that we want these things but I'm reminded of a scene in Lost In Translation that made me think differently for the first time:


BOB: ...it gets complicated when you have kids... that changes everything.

CHARLOTTE: That's too scary.

BOB: When they're born it's like Vietnam. It's terrifying.

CHARLOTTE: No one ever tells you that...

Some questions of my own have been surfacing since getting a front row seat to my friend's marital/parental life, which include:

• How do you take a shower with a two-year-old, awake, running through the house?
• What does discipline look like?
• Who does the laundry, the dishes, the bills?
• Do you ever have a spare moment to yourself for sixteen, eighteen, twenty (or, in my parents' case: thirty) years, as your children grow up and, eventually, move out?

Or, forget children for a moment, and let's focus on marriage alone. I mean, you're adding another human being to your life. To everything you do. As Penelope Cruz' character, Sophia, in Vanilla Sky says, "Holy God. This is going to change my life in a zillion different ways. I must be nuts."

Or, in The Way of the World by Congreve (thanks, Nik):

My dear liberty, shall I leave thee?  My faithful solitude,
my darling contemplation, must I bid you then adieu?  Ay-h,
adieu.  My morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent
slumbers, all ye DOUCEURS, ye SOMMEILS DU MATIN, adieu.
I can't do't, 'tis more than impossible.

Perhaps it is because I didn't jump the gun at twenty, and get married when emotions and hormones were high and logic was at an all-time low (not with everyone, but definitely the case with me), that my logic now outweighs my emotions and hormones? Why does it suddenly irk me to think that I might reach a stage in my life where I can not shrink away to read in a corner, or go see a film, or travel the world; that to do so would be irresponsible?

Thoughts, anyone?

That's my King. Do you know Him?

Yoinked from Andrew Gazaneo's blog is THIS tasty little bit of streaming audio. It's like old-school freestyling...

Step of Faith

Horses are much stronger than me...

I'm staying at my friend, Shay's, house in London, England. Shay and her husband, Duncan, have a two-year-old named Jayda. I, therefore, have been enrolled in a crash-course in Life With A Toddler 101.

Jayda has a non-stop vocabulary (first born girls...we're speaking from day one), so I've taught her to say "evidently". She says it now. We're working on "superfluous". For the most part, she toddles around the house, engaging anyone and anything she finds in conversation. Mum, dad, me, a crayon, her Paddington bear doll. For a Canadian's ears, her developing British accent provides extra entertainment.

She has four books, in a series, which are each about a different farm animal: horse, cow, chicken and sheep. Disconcertingly enough, the chicken book states, and I quote:

Chickens are much smaller than me...
They say "cock-a-doodle-do!"
I can say that too, can you?

Which is erroneously leading the child to believe that chickens, and not roosters, say cock-a-doodle-do. And, as I have been recently researching, this would be a grave mistake to make in many fundamental evangelical denominations of the West. What would Paul have to say about chickens crowing, hm? The things they teach kids these days...

I must now go and answer the pressing question, "What's doggie doing?"