Esprit de l'escalier

Israel called last night just after I got out of Senate. He needs prayer. Here’s the update he sent to me a few days ago:

HI.

I´M SO EXCITEMENT, LAST WEEKEND WE HAVE AN EVANGELISM EVENT IN MY CITY, WE WERE PRAYING A LOT AND GOD MADE HIS JOB 160 CAME TO CHRIST.
THE BEST THING THAT HAPPEN WAS THAT THE GOVERMENT SAW US DOING ONE OF THE 6 SHOWS THAT WE MADE AND THEY HAVE INVITED US TO OPEN 2 BIG FESTIVALS THAT “TOLUCA” HAS EVERY YEAR.

A LOT OF PEOPLE COME TO THIS EVENTS, SPECIAL TO THE ONE THAT STAR THIS MAY BECAUSE PEOPLE FROM AROUND MEXICO COME TO THIS FESTIVAL.
I´M SO GLAD ABOUT THIS , A LOT OF PEOPLE IS GOING TO HEAR THE GOSPEL BY THE DRAMAS WE ARE GOING TO SHOW, AND AT THE END OF THE DRAMAS I´M GOING TO GIVE THE MESSAGE.
THIS IS THE FIRST TIME THAT THE MEXICAN GOVERMENT LET CHRISTIANS TO DO THIS IN A BIG FESTIVAL.

“”””THANKS JESUS”””””

PLEASE PRAY FOR ALL THIS.

Last night when he called he was so upset because the government was begining to reconsider the invitation they had given. Israel thinks that satan may be trying to fight this opportunity. Please pray for Israel and his team. Pray that the Lord would have a strong hand on the situation. Thanks!

With every day that goes by, I know more and more that I want to be a writer. But not just any writer. No sir. I want to be a writer with a purpose. I want to be someone who speaks truth and helps people. Two days ago I e-mailed a few columnists from the Seattle Times to see if I could meet up with them for coffee sometime and talk journalism. I know that it’s pretty much impossible to become a columnist at my age, but at least I can get my foot in the door by making friends.
Last Friday I went to the 2005 Dart Awards. (Those are the awards for excellence in reporting on victims of violence.) It’s soooo amazing what those people do. Reporting on situations involving violence of that magnitude is extremely hard. I had a hard time just writing obituaries. There were several journalists (print and broadcast) that reported on the Tsunami and came back completely different people. While I admire them, I’m not sure I’d ever have the guts to do what they do. But that’s an example of the kind of writing I’m talking about, the kind that moves people to understand things (new things or the same things in a different way), the kind that changes people and inspires action toward a good cause. It’s the kind that people cut out and post on their cubical wall or scrapbook as a point of reference in an album. It’s the kind that is used as an example in an any classroom. There are many pieces I’ve read that have moved and changed me (besides the Bible of course). I want to write that kind, the kind that matter.
I think of people like Hal Bernton, Annie Dillard, C.S. Lewis, Alice Walker, Anne Lamott, Rick Bragg, Anne Hull, Thomas French, Ira Glass. I could go on. These are my heroes, my examples; perhaps even my place holders. These are the people whose shoes I long to fill. But, is this where the Lord is leading me? I have this skill, but is it the brush that I’m supposed to use in helping to paint His greater picture?

I think I’m getting ambitious. Or am I being called?

[…]

A lot has been going on. I don’t have the mind to describe it now. But those of you who know me and know my situation please pray for me. Pray that I will have strength to do what I know is right. Pray that I’ll have wisdom when the tough situations approach me. Because I know they will. Pray that I will hold fast to my proper convictions and keep an ear open for the guidance of God. Thank you.

“The character of a man is known from his conversations.” -Menander

P.S. For my advanced creative nonfiction class, I’m supposed to write a short memoir. Friends, do you have any memories of our times together that hold a particualr resonance in your life? If so, please share. I’d appreciate it, thanks!

“In the period of preparation the soul loves in emptiness. It does not know whether anything real answers its love….The soul knows for certain only that it is hungry. The important thing is that it announces its hunger by crying. A child does not stop crying if we suggest to it that perhaps there is no bread. It goes on crying just the same. The danger is not lest the soul should doubt whether there is any bread, but lest, by a lie, it should persuade itself that it is not hungry. It can only persuade itself of this by lying, for the reality of its hunger is not a belief, it is a certainty.”
>Simone Weil

In short, here’s what I’ve recently come to understand about dreams, ambition, success and failing. That desire for something more.
Our longings are facts before they are interpreted. There is something our internal philosophers cannot afford to know, given their job description. You can miss out on things by waiting too long, by thinking too hard, by floating one too many hypotheses, by confusing grumpy thoughts with intellectual integrity. In trying to protect us (from the horror of being duped by fine-sounding arguments), our internal philosophers sometimes talk us out of the deep longings of our heart. They are in danger of deceiving themselves if they try to explain away as impossible what in fact is already the case.

*These thoughts were inspired by “Forgetting Ourselves on Purpose” by Brian J. Mahan

[…]

My fingers feel like jelly and my creative juices have been wrung dry. *sigh*
Two days ago a visitor snuck into my apartment and sat with me while I worked on my latest article in the family room. She wasn’t a complete stranger, I’d seen her around before. But this is the first time she’s been so bold as to make herself comfortable on my couch. She startled me at first, hiding behind the blinds and warming herself by leaning against the sun-soaked glass of the sliding patio door. But she’s quickly grown on me and we’ve become friends. She’s quite lovable.
I asked my roommate if we could keep her. “A Tabby as small as herself shouldn’t be too hard to hide, right?” I inquired of her, holding the purring visitor under my arm as we both gave her our biggest (for lack of a better word) puppy eyes. My roommate wasn’t so receptive. “It’s not that I don’t like cats,” she attempted to defend herself. “It’s just that…you know, if she had tags…I’d be more welcoming. You never know where it’s been, you know?” The Tabby played with my sweatshirt string as I stood in my roommate’s doorway. “Yeah, I understand,” I looked down at Tabby and silently told her I was sorry.
It’s all probably better this way. She is more of a free spirit. I mean, she probably has tons of friends. When I left for class this morning she was waiting for me on my doorstep. I think she’s forgiven me for kicking her out last time. She walked to class with me. Halfway there she broke off because she saw a friend and went to greet her. Don’t get me wrong – I didn’t feel betrayed or anything. I mean, we’ve only been ‘real’ friends for like…a week, technically. So I was happy for her. Besides, my prof kicked out the last kitten that tried to sit in on our class. So I knew Tabby might not be welcome.
I saw her again today when I was on my way out to the SPD to request some reports. Once again she was waiting in front of my door (leaning against it actually). She bolted inside and ran to make herself comfortable in the sunny spot on the couch. We sat for a while and I looked over some notes before I left.
So that’s my new friend. I hope our friendship grows. We get along great and she’ll probably become part of our apartment community, unless someone calls the pound. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Sure she can be a little pushy and intrusive sometimes…but that may just be the kind of cat she is. There isn’t anything wrong with that. We’re all different, you know?

Briefly, in other news. My article didn’t go in this week. There were some *clearing throat* questioning of the veracity of my sources. I’ve done some more leg work and I’m hoping to confront them about their story when the paperwork comes through. The waiting is the worst part of these stories.

So the first week of classes has passed and I’m not completely stressed out. Praise the Lord! What’s better is that I’m actually working on a story for the paper right now that is interesting and should be fun to write.
Just these last few weeks I’ve learned more about where I’d like to go with my talents and my career path. I’d for sure like to do something for a good reason (something that has a purpose, maybe to help people.) I’d also like to have a career where I could exercise my creative juices. Today in my marketing class I realized how much fun that field can be and how much I already know about marketing (weird), so I thought to myself “hey, maybe PR is where I belong.” But I’m not sure. I guess what it comes down to now is just calling people and making connections. This shouldn’t be too hard for me…since becoming a reporter I’ve developed a knack for calling strangers and making nice.
I think what I’m going to miss the most about SPU when I graduate is the (dare I say it) community. I’ve made so many wonderful friends out here and I feel like I’ve somewhat established my independence. I want so much to travel more and see things before I settle down in a job. But honestly, who has money to do that? And I think I’d want to travel with someone. (Lord knows I’d get lost if I went by myself.) I wonder if there are any graduate programs that involve just traveling, writing and relaxing? Wouldn’t that be a dream. I’ll have to look into that more.

Final thought: What do you all think of the Terri Schivo case? I’m curious to hear your commentary. 🙂

This is my last quarter at SPU. I don’t want it to be over. I feel like I’m just starting to get the hang of university life. I pray that the Lord shows me where I’m supposed to go next.

I cut my hair over break. It’s nice to actually have a style again. Plus I don’t get headaches anymore from the weight of my hair when I put it in a ponytail. Pretty sweet!

This quarter is going to be a really busy one (again). So I apologize now for the lack of posting and updates. I know I know, your hearts are breaking, but I promise you…you’ll survive. 🙂

Cass, I can’t wait for the next movie night. When is it going to be? I can’t wait to see your new place!

Loreanne and Andrea, I miss you so much already!!! I hope you’re doing well.

Today went so fast. It’s already bed time again. Night night.

Yes, that’s right…I was the official welcome home committee for Brad last night.
*sigh* I didn’t realize how much I really missed him until I was waiting for his unit to arrive. Turns out their flight from Iraq came in late, so we waited an extra hour in the stuffy Memorial building/ hotel in San Francisco. I’m too tired to get to the details now…but it was good to see him and his family again.
He came to my place after dinner at the hotel and visiting with friends and family back at his house. Even though it was raining, we went in the hot tub after he talked with my dad for an hour and a half. (ha-ha, some things never change). We sat and caught up for several hours. He had some amazing stories. He said he missed me a lot. I actually got proof of it in the mail just today. He’d sent a postcard on March 11 and it just came today.
I subjected him to my usual barrage of questions and then we just sat in silence for a long time. It wasn’t awkward or anything, it was just…well, nice I guess. Finally he asked me what I was thinking and I told him I was debating in my head whether or not to ask him that same question (which was true, I really was wondering what he was thinking). Then somehow we got on the topic of how everyone needs help in some area of their life. I asked him what areas he needed help in (I didn’t really expect an answer…but it was still worth asking). He never did answer me. He was silent for about 5 minutes. Then he took my chin, pulled me close and kissed me. Lord knows I didn’t see that coming. But I have a hunch my parents did…they made themselves scarce that night after the welcome home surprise dinner in SF. I’ve been kissed once by Brad before, but this one was definitely different. Makes me nervous. I don’t know. I guess I’ll just have to wait, pray and see where this goes. I’ll admit I’m a little afraid that I might have just been the outlet for the pent up tension of a man who was confined to living with several other men in a war zone for 7 months. Maybe it’s prideful for me to say this…but I really hope he wasn’t just treating me that way because I happened to be the first girl he saw when stepped off the bus.