tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-125993062024-03-23T10:43:46.130-07:00have fun storming the castlethe misadventures and wandering thoughts of a recovering evangelicalBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.comBlogger274125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1145994716929498592006-04-25T12:41:00.000-07:002007-06-22T15:16:38.232-07:00what's in a word?i am working on my stan grenz article right now. it's going to be an application of his last work, <span style="font-style: italic;">the named god and the question of being: a trinitarian onto-theology</span>. it's title is <span style="font-style: italic;">the named god and the question of evil: a trinitarian re-imagination of theodicy in ministry</span>.<br /><br />i'll post a link to it when it gets published (next month?)<br /><br />anyway, i was just thinking about writing - about writing papers, blog entries, articles etc. does anyone really read my blog? is anyone really impacted by my words - other than a chuckle at dan lincoln and the odd things he says? when i write 10 papers in one day and tire myself out over them, is anyone changed by them? am i? would i be changed if i never sat down to write the words? would they still crowd my head? would it just be crowding?<br /><br />why do i write a blog?<br /><br />why am i writing an article?<br /><br />does anyone care?<br /><br />does it matter if anyone cares?<br /><br />is writing truly relational? is it trinitarian? do i write trinitarianly? or do i write for the sake of monologue?<br /><br />how does/will the interaction of author (me) text (this) and reader (you) play out? what are you subjectively doing with my words? how are you using them to interpret me? what meaning is left after we all (author, text, and reader) thow our thoughts, bias, points of view, etc. into the mix?<br /><br />what is in a word?Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-43885385783047628702007-06-21T22:51:00.000-07:002007-06-21T22:53:36.245-07:00farewell blogspotthis blog has been a ghost town this year and i'm having trouble with the formatting of the new blogspot anyway, so i've moved.<br /><br />please visit my new blog and if you have a link to this blog, update it to the new blog<br /><br /><a href="http://www.thecrescendo.wordpress.com">the crescendo: www.thecrescendo.wordpress.com</a>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-44500248193415455422007-01-19T10:14:00.000-08:002007-01-19T10:24:46.446-08:00coming soon...<span style="font-family:arial;">now that mars hill graduate school has moved into the heart of the city, this small school with a relational emphasis is getting a chance to test it's high wishes of relationality with the other. As the students and professors are leaving their cars and climbing aboard busses, a few of us will be starting a new blog called "riding the bus." It will have stories, reflections, frustrations, questions, pictures, etc. from the riding the bus. Look for it in the next week.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Note: If you are a MHGS student interested in contributing, let me know. Or if you don't want to join the blog but have a thought, a poem, a question, a picture etc. that you want posted, email it to me and I can post it for you.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.the-bus-stops-here.org/SeaMetro-SB_5th_FS_Jackson-Seattle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.the-bus-stops-here.org/SeaMetro-SB_5th_FS_Jackson-Seattle.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Here's my first thoughts:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:arial;" >And the Beat Pounds On</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Day two on the bus.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I am listening to Damien Jurado.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And the dancing guitar passes time</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-one-and…</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don’t need you anymore</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I’m independent there is nothing to say</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A girl sits next to me</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The aisle divides us like the Great Wall of China</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Men were killed – built into the wall</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Slowly starving and suffocating in isolation</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-and-two-and-three-and-four…</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don’t need you anymore</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I’m independent there is nothing to say</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Her eyes are wide and her hello kitty boots are pink</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And warm and small and holy</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">She watches me typing on my computer</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Gently bobbing my head to the music playing in my own world</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-and-two-and-three-and-four…</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don’t need you anymore</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I’m independent there is nothing to say</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The song ends</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A new one begins</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-two-and-three-and-one…</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">She thinks I don’t see her as she mimics my gentle head bobbing</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The gentle waltzing rhythm and its earmuff like bearers separate us</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I read a sign</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It preaches the ten commandments of the bus:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“Respect other passengers’ privacy.”</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It’s not an unwritten rule – it is a written</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Written,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Printed on shining, colorful, appeasing paper</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Cut from a 300 year old tree, recycled, recycled, recycled and finally static</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Resting isolated, silent, like the rest of us</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Its shrill silence preaches next to the burnt-out prophet</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A picture of a doll eating a dead rat and the words,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“Kissing a smoker is just as gross.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I stop to listen to Damien:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">His voice is old and comforting</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He reminds me of the days when</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He and I rode solo in my car and I</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sang along as thought the world ended</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">At my broken windows and bumper-sticker ridden tail</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The map of my world – of my tightly confined reality</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Reads “Monsters lie here”</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Now I, like Ferdinand Magellan stepped off the edge of the safe world</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And my first mate sings: “I play the movies in my head.”</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And the beat</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Goes</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-and-two-and-three-and-one</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I play the movie in my head.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I am on the bus. and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The music plays. and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Two</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The music builds. and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Three</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The music drives. and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My deep thoughts or voiced-over angst speaks</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In beat and in turn</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With the music.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With the music.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With the music.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And I’m not even listening as Damien strains his gentle voice.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The movie presses on</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The screen pans to show thirty people</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Raptured in the most uncreative and maddening aspect of film: montage</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We all sit, bobbing our ignorant, inhuman heads</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Each to the same beat</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Each to the same fucking song</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Each to the same bullshit imaginary movie</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One-and-two-and-three-and-one-and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In this moment we are “we” fucking twisted as it is</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The guitar strums pound more like death metal than folk</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">ONE-and-TWO-and-</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The soundtrack is maddening.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I scream at the top of my lungs</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But like in a dream when you are sure you woke up</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And you tried to eat breakfast and</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brush your fuzzy teeth still rancid with the night before</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And comb the entanglement from your hair</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And shower off the memory of your unwanted dream</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Only to realize you have not moved at all</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">All that comes from my valiant scream is</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“ding”</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And the lighted sign behind the bus driver sings:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“Stop requested.”</span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-34880343353718966502007-01-07T14:02:00.000-08:002007-01-07T14:14:15.238-08:00love your enemies eh?<blockquote> You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.'<br />But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you<br />may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and<br />the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those<br />who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing<br />that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others?<br />Do not even pagans do that?</blockquote><br /><br />i've been thinking a lot about yesterday and about my post.<br /><br />i don't know the answer to this question and i really don't even want to ask it....but...<br /><br />what would it look like to love that man? to not be drawn into his violent, angry world, but to somehow love him with the same creativity and passion that the art show shows for invisible children?<br /><br />i found myself saying - outloud to my mom [who was there]: "this is why i never leave the city anymore." dogmatism. othering. us and them. NOT LOVE.<br /><br />is it reasonable to ask me to love that man - in that sacred space i worked so hard to bring about and placed so much hope in? no. not reasonable - but right anyway.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-20800631283390636692007-01-06T17:19:00.000-08:002007-01-06T18:12:51.775-08:00not so much fun storming the castle.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.stencilboard.at/tags/789a_boywithgun_l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.stencilboard.at/tags/789a_boywithgun_l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><blockquote>The Pitiful American god</blockquote><blockquote style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">If they were American?<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">What would you do?<br />What would you give?<br />Where would you protest?<br />What polititian would you write hounding letters too?<br /><br />If he were your son?<br />If he were Jesus?<br />If your<br />salvation<br />depended<br />on it?<br /><br />But, they aren't American.<br />He's not your son.<br />He's not Jesus.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> [1]<br />And salvation is a free gift.<br /><br />So you greedily take it<br />You say, "pitty" and<br /><br />Become an irreligious goat [</span><span style="font-size:100%;">2]<br />With a dead faith,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> [3]<br />In a starving, dehydrated, naked, homeless, and lonely God [</span><span style="font-size:100%;">4]<br />Whose arms refuse to take Guns from the hands of children.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> [5]<br /><br /></span></blockquote><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Manger art re-opened today. There's nothing like doing some good in the world to bring out the hateful people.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >A man walked in with his pre-teen daughter. Looked at all the art, and seemed receptive enough. So, I engaged him:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><blockquote style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Me: Hi. How are you doing today?<br />Man: Fine. Are you a newe shop?<br />Me: No; we're just here for a stay trying to raise money for Invisible Children. Have you heard of Invisible Children?<br />Man: No. [Interested look on his face]<br />Me: Well, it's a charity that works with kids affected by the war in Northern Uganda. There are kids forced to fight and...<br />Man: So you're raising money to help them to fight?<br />Me: No. [bewildered] No. Invisible Children helps to keep kids safe, get them PTS counseling, offers schooling...<br />Man: So, you're raising money to train child soldiers?<br />Me: No. To keep kids from being soldiers and help kids that have been rescued from being soldiers...<br />Man: [Again interrupting] So what about the kids in America?<br />Me: Well, there is a lot of need in the worl...<br />Man: The kids that hang out at the court house all day dealing and doing crack<br />Me: Well, there certainly is a lot of need and we don't deny that, but this charity is one that our hearts are heavey fo...<br />Man: So you don't care about American kids?<br />Me: No! [Firmly, angrily - though hiding the anger thus far] It's just tragic that 5-year-olds are given guns and...<br />Man: But you don't care about 12-year-olds with crack.<br />Me: No sir. It is not that we don't care it is just that...<br />Man: You'd choose African kids as opposed to American kids.<br />Me: No! [Finally gritting my teeth and losing my grip on the anger rising] No! not </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >opposed</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> to anything.<br />Man: I'm just being devils advocate.</span></blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><blockquote style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He stoppped, looked around and announced: "Well, this art is all pretty violent and unimaginative. Only one piece struck me as remotely interesting." He motioned for me to follow him over to a piece Ed Traub has on display entitled "Passover." Assuming he knew what the painting is about and revealing why he maybe thought all the art was "violent," he asked if Ed had ever seen blood and bone scraped across the pavement like that or if it was from something he saw in a movie. I told him that, as the peice was called "Passover," I didn't know if that's what it was supposed to be.<br /><br />His jaw dropping and conversation ending response:<br />"Ahh, the Jews. They were the first terrorists you know, back in 1946. They're good at terrorism. Yeah, those Jews are really good at it."<br /><br />If my life were an episode of scrubs, my head would have exploded, I and my body started running around like crazy only to finally rest with my hands on his neck. Then the scene would cut back to reality as I stood blankly though politely next to the man and said, "Hmm. Well, thank you for stopping by."</span></blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >What can I say? So much. Soooo much. There are simply no words. And every once in a while, I begin to believe this brand of thinking is extinct. And if it is extinct, then maybe the Kingdom is coming. And if the Kingdom is coming then nothing is in vain...</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >So I sat for 6 hours today. Sold nothing. Had my heart trampled - and my hope with it. Was it in vain? Was it/is it worth it? Why can't I have the answers to these questions? Why can't my illusion that the world is changing be true? Why is it not Americans that suffer for American ignorance - at least there would be some justice-ish substance in the world?</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >I need the will and strength to go on - but I suppose I know I can't live ignorantly anymore. So, I storm the castle despite my disbelief that "true love" will win this one.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >1. Matthew 25:40<br />2. Matthew 25:32-33<br />3. James 2:26<br />4.Matthew 25:31ff<br />5. 1 Corinthians 12:27</span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-39031097373997024952007-01-02T21:18:00.000-08:002007-01-02T21:29:45.649-08:00a sparkly wig and no blank canvassescleaning my room - cleaning the clutter, the old mail, the ticket stubs, random notes, cards, and old pictures, i came across some pictures from my childhood.<br /><br />i was passionate. i dressed like punky brewster and insisted on wearing this sparkley wig my parents bought me at the fair. i walked into rooms of squabbeling children and sought peace. i marveled at the world. i was going to be the first woman president...and the first person to go their whole life without a singe cavity (although, i think that's probably been done before). i laughed. i played. i trusted that my friends would be my friends tomorrow and never wondered if they would betray or abandon me. when i was sad, i cried. when i wanted solitude, i curled up in my closet and talked to God. i was going to change the world---though, i didn't really know what needed to be changed yet - except that girls at private school shouldn't be forced to wear dresses to school, since they made the monkey bars impossible.<br /><br />children are amazing. they aren't blank canvasses. they are complicated and complex people with stories and personalities in progress from day one. why do we treat them like blank canvasses? why do we try to paint mona lisa over punk brewster? why do we quiet their passion with rules? why do we attempt to worship without them? why are they in sunday morning classrooms to teach them how to worship when they already worship all the time and more whole-heartedly than most? why do we tythe 10% of our money without bringing 10% of the best coloring sheets children have done and dried out play dough teddy bears to the alter?<br /><br />if i could only wear that sparkly wig today. if i could only trust my friends. if i could only fight for a better tomorrow regardless of how much i loved tolday. where did i go?<br /><br />and forbid it, sweet saving Lord, that i ever stumble one of these little ones into becoming something other than the beatiful, worshippers and world-changers they are born to be.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-64093637104431093342007-01-02T03:24:00.000-08:002007-01-02T03:27:36.698-08:00i was cleaning out my car (for my brother's road trip) and i found my long lost reading glasses!<br /><br />the world is new! (which sadly means that my eye sight is deteriorating as i never really needed them before - they were only for those days that i read over 300 pages in a day)<br /><br />it makes me think about how rediscovering old things and trying them on can sometimes open a new way of seeing things...or, in this case, at least make things a bit clearer.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-83429209809604648922007-01-01T15:30:00.000-08:002007-01-01T15:50:11.721-08:00to jakei just watched the princess bride with my mom. she'd never seen it before. how that happened, since it was a key part of my childhood, i don't know.<br /><br />also, my brother got into a car accident and totalled his car. i offered him mine to take on a vacation he's been planning and desperately needs after a riduculously aweful quarter of school and life in general. my mom said i was sweet to do that. she seemed to marvel at how i would want to help my brother. it seemed almost as though she thought i was doing her a favor by loving her son.<br /><br />i wasn't.<br /><br />there's something different about a sibling. i am now and always will be closer to my brother than to anyone else in my family. he's the one that laughs with me when a preacher stands up and says, "mawage, mawage is what bwings us togevaw today." he's the one that knows why my blog is called <span style="font-style: italic;">have fun storming the castle</span>. jake understands why i leave the room when the albino comes on - because my friends and i used to think that his mole was a pile of dried buggers and, to this day, it grosses me out.<br /><br />further, jake knows what it is like to have the television raise you while your dad reads a book and your mom works 10 hour days with other people's children. he knows what it is like to go to the Christian schools we atteneded, to go through over 10 youth ministers in your jh/hs career. he knows what it is like to have your dad lose his job and your mom be diagnosed with cancer in the same two week period.<br /><br />he was and is my war buddie from dangerous trenches and my fishing buddie from many unsuccessful fishing trips. he was my partner in many crimes, occasionally my mortal enemy, and often the person with whom i laughed and laugh at some ironic uber inside joke until the laughter hurts both internally and soulfully.<br /><br />jake only does myspace (a point we agree to disagree on) so he'll never read this, but all the same, i wanted to take the time to reflect on my little bro and all we have meant to each other.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-67436948937477905372006-12-31T16:20:00.000-08:002006-12-31T16:50:47.124-08:00my brother the migragory goose and me, the hibernating seattlite with my hand on the snooze button<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos.imageevent.com/jhowle/ducksetc/icons/goose-squawking2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://photos.imageevent.com/jhowle/ducksetc/icons/goose-squawking2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"i know i suck, i just can't hear it." my tone deaf brother said these words to me about his singing ability - or lack there of. he know's he's bad and in truth, he is aweful. he takes "bad" to new soaring heights. still, he can't hear what he knows to be true.<br /><br />i laughed at my brother. it is a silly plight and something that doesn't matter all that much. but, i laughed so lightly in part because we are now members of different worshipping communities. i no longer have to attempt to sing a chorus or hymn while standing next to him. God love the boy, no matter how bad he is, he always belts out some off key (and off melody and off rhythm) tune. i can hear it and hear, in his heart, that "sweet sweet sound" he squawks his request for God to hear. however, the pain comes in my inability to sing. standing next to jake, suddenly, he is so aweful that i have a difficult time trying to stay of key (or rhythm, or melody - or even harmony for that matter). i can laugh lightly with him now, but a few years ago, i would have said, "yep. yep, you really can't hear yourself." and would have ground my teeth thinking, "so maybe you should just sing a quieter so no one else has to hear you either!"<br /><br />but now, i laugh.<br /><br />this seems to speak to community. when a member of a community cannot hold a tune - it is not the single member who sings off key - it is everyone. so then, what do we do with our ears that hear what our community members cannot? do we wish they would stop, or do we play the role of a gentle tuning fork?<br /><br />further, the truth is that none of us have perfect pitch. we're all belting out off-key tones saying, "i think it's this." together we sound like a flock of migratory geese heralding the morning before it's actually arrived. we are annoying. we are painful to hear. others deeply desire to end our misery...but, in truth, it's not misery. we herald the breaking dawn - whether it's broken or not - it will come. whether we are on key or have any rhythm at all, the world looks and listens. people roll over in bed and prepare for the first of many snooze-button taps before they are finally roused.<br /><br />in short, though my brother sounds like a dying goose and though christian community is annoying and appears crazy to the world around us, we both worship and praise the coming dawn of a world where our squawking becomes melodious and where the bright light of the broken dawn thaws the harsh, frozen, barren, wintery world.<br /><br />sing on jake - and pardon me if i keep hitting the snooze button. i'll sing with you again some great day! then we will hurt the ears of th world as we joyfully struggle toward the right key.<br /></span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-24391666027495577322006-12-24T12:09:00.001-08:002006-12-24T21:50:12.557-08:00merry tristmas to alli think that evangelicalism might just be palitable if it didn't enlist us in such a strict world of us versus them. it's tempting to say that fundamentalism's downfall is it's legalistic moralism - something to be confronted for sure - but legalistic moralism often looks at life and sees that we are all in danger of falling into some irreversible sin. legalistic moralism sees the danger for all people. it's not about categorizing and labeling so that "we" are safe here and "they" are across some line of judgment.<br /><br />i remember a christmas story i was told at sunday school:<br /><blockquote>there once was a rich man named tristian. tristian decided that every year on his birthday, he'd invite a new person to share in his wealth. each year, he did just that. and each year, he invited everyone who had come before as they celebrated a day that became known as "tristmas." everyone who had been invited to this great celebration was called a "tristian" and all tristians were invited every year.<br /><br />after time, the population became jealous and began celebrating the day themselves. the malls became crowded with people buying gifts - people who had never even met Tristian.<br /><br />one day, a tristian stopped a woman at the mall, who he did not recognize as a fellow tristian. he said to the woman, "why are you celebrating tristmas if you are not a tristian?"<br /></blockquote><br />that's where the story ended.<br /><br />the man was a hero. the woman was a fool. the alegory was violently obvious, as we were the lucky tristians. the rest of the world was just jealous because they had not been invited.<br /><br />really? is this really what was born 2000 years ago in a stable? is this the great hope of the world? is this the legacy of the jesus who wept over the world? maybe the story should continue:<br /><br /><blockquote>just then, Tristian himself walked by. with unparalleled love, he looked deep into the eyes of the shamed woman and said to her, "merry Tristmas friend." he then looked at the puffed up tristian and said, "look, the world has seen and recieved my love and generosity without even meeting me - yet you claim my name, you dine with me every year, you have been lavished upon - and you have not love for others?" as Tristian looked at the man, he didn't judge him - he was only sad. he knew, his loving, generous experiment was not working.<br /><br />that year, at the Tristmas feast, he announced: "you are all Tristians. you have all been generously blessed. i love each of you - but the love and generosity i have given you here in this room is a pale shadow to what i wish for you, and for all the people of the world.<br /><br />"look at the world around you. they are celebrating Tristmas. they are giving and recieving. they are feasting together. they are finding hope and joy in this day - even if they have not ever met me, seen my wealth, or felt the hospitible welcome of my mansion.<br /><br />"for a time - for some unsaid number of years - we will no longer meet here every year. i want for all of you to join your fellow-humanity in the generosity and blessing of the day. join them and further invite them into this generosity. see them all as tristians, touched by my generosity and giving in response. love them and learn from them as you also are loved and taught by them.<br /><br />"in time, you will all recieve your invitations back to my mansion and we - as well as all those you have dined with and all those who know my generosity - will join together to feast at Tristmas."<br /><br />a confused woman said, "but, if we treat everyone who celebrates your generosity as a Tristian, we won't be special anymore. everyone will become a tristian. this is our special day in the year - can't we keep it set apart from the rest of the world?"<br /><br />a man spoke up as well, "your mansion, big as it is, cannot fit that many. it's not meant for everyone, only a select few!"<br /><br />Tristian stood tall, compassionate, yet firm as his voice strongly rebuked the prideful two. first he spoke to the woman: "sister, this day is indeed special. it is like no other. does it not become all the more special when even those who have not met me feel some seed of incontainable generosity in their hearts? are such people not worthy to be one of <span style="font-style: italic;">us</span>?"<br /><br />Tristian then spoke to the man, "brother, how little you know my mansion after all these years. have you explored its every room, every garden, every table? there is ceaseless room in my mansion. it may look limited, but when love and charity knock, the walls ever expand - extending hospitality to each one that seeks to join the feast.<br /><br />"brothers and sisters," he continued, opening his large, loving arms to all his festivly gathered friends, "as i said before, beautiful as this yearly feast here in my home is, it is a pale shadow of all that i wish. i wish for the you to all give and recieve as freely as i have with you. moreover, i wish for the whole world to give and recieve in that way, and for you, as my friends and ambassadors, to invite the world into this way of giving on this joyous day.<br /><br />"now raise your glasses with me and let us drink, sweet friends, to the tristmas feast - here in this room, next door, in the homeless shelter, in the widow's lonely studio apartment and in every space that it is celebrated."<br /><br />like in the story of the grinch, seeing their mentor's love to liberally spread throughout the room and even beyond it's boundaries, the closed-hearted tristians' hearts all grew three sizes, bursting with new generosity. finally seeing what Tristmas really was, they all heartily raised their glasses and exclaimed, "TO TRISTMAS!"<br /></blockquote>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-87572809035771485632006-12-19T00:56:00.000-08:002006-12-19T01:10:56.587-08:00art showbrief update:<br />The art show opening was well attended. the poetry and music were beautiful. too many people thought that asking for admission was asking too much - those people kind of made me mad...but, such is american privialged life. we made about $1,000 for invisible children.<br /><br />2 of jen's photos sold<br />2 or bryan's sold<br />1 of tucker's pieces - the one he made specially for the show sold<br /><br />a number of other pieces are being mulled over and will probably sell at some point during the 3 month stay.<br /><br />random people from mountlake terrace and from the conservative church where the show is taking place keep happening in for a peak and come away with a new experience of art and a knew knowledge about the world...a very encouraging result!<br /><br />we're planning to have another show like saturday's, with poetry and music, near valentine's day.<br /><br />don't forget that our special closing event will be hosted by invisible children and will take place on march 10th.<br /><br />the down side of things:<br />spending a day in the church that i used to intern at - the place that was my spiritual home - the place i pined after when i moved away - rotted my stomach. that church lives staunchly in the us/them world. many many times in the last week i fought back tears in the face of such close minded lack of compassion.<br /><br />how do i have compassion for them?<br />how do i not end up in a different us/them world?<br />how do i walk with them toward compassion?<br />what does it look like to be curious about their lack of curiosity?<br />am i ready to walk back into this world that hurt me so much, or is this a premature stent?<br /><br />i am beginning my month vacation with a ton of inner questioning and uncertainty.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-87974378178421816152006-12-17T20:23:00.000-08:002006-12-18T01:36:20.517-08:00SIDS, judgement, and a bad dayTears that fall like winter rain in Seattle<br />Slow<br />Bitter<br />Constant –<br />Making you turn frigid and brittle in their soul-draining shadow<br />Of grey clouds and impenetrable blankets<br />Smothering a small child who just wishes she could breath<br />But has not the power to free herself<br />She slowly suffocates and is claimed by SIDS –<br />Like too many infants who<br />May have shined one day – who<br />May have danced – who<br />May have changed the world and made it into something<br /><br /><br /><br />Bright.<br /><br />Such tears are void to hope<br />To stretch<br />To create a world – In which<br />You and I sit together - In which<br />You and I share a meal – In which<br />I could dare to bring myself<br />To you<br />In which you might strain to truly see me<br /><br />You report her sinful world<br />You report your anger<br />You report her – beautiful her –<br />Broken honesty as<br />Sin<br />Full<br /><br />It is indeed dark and no child can breathe<br />Beneath the shadow of your heavy world<br />Beneath your misplaced anger<br />Beneath your – stifling your –<br />Broken hiding as<br />Sin<br />LessBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-80597440281207336672006-12-15T22:18:00.000-08:002006-12-15T22:21:30.622-08:00art show<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Remember to come to the art show!!!!!<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">also, here's a treat:</span></span></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtR2oo2hVGrfv6o2IF-HVO1KS9d9UyFPX9mRB_deorauvf3-aacRsaX3FqYl31VgCYBnIRXWP0EleZbImvHCNEHnUt9ydbxQv5IXGrNNlVT4g2OVoimGQ4CiuOG6Ds5kg_xs6nA/s1600-h/dandeer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtR2oo2hVGrfv6o2IF-HVO1KS9d9UyFPX9mRB_deorauvf3-aacRsaX3FqYl31VgCYBnIRXWP0EleZbImvHCNEHnUt9ydbxQv5IXGrNNlVT4g2OVoimGQ4CiuOG6Ds5kg_xs6nA/s400/dandeer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5009005748650526530" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1165140400032730262006-12-03T02:03:00.000-08:002006-12-03T23:48:26.303-08:00more on manger artthanks to generous artists such as phil nellis, tucker fitzgerald, jen grabarczyk, jessi knippel, scott erickson, john powless, byran nixon and a host of others who are either not confirmed or not my particular contacts, this year's art show should be really amazing!!! i am truly blown away by the artwork we've gotten in the last few days.<br /><br />i strongly encourage you all to attend the opening and bring your check book and Christmas buying list! invite friends ! it is looking to be a great event!Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1165081602924005912006-12-02T09:33:00.000-08:002006-12-02T09:46:42.963-08:00Praise the miraculous God of recolcilliation!<span style="font-family: arial;">The controversial mars hill protest has been called off. for the most happy of reasons: reconcilliation! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Mark Driscoll and several local pastors met and had an open, honest dialogue. Apparently, Mark even humbly listened and recieved from female pastors!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, here's two links: </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="www.theresurgence.com/mark_driscoll_2006-12-01_count_it_all_joy">mark's blog,</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> and </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="www.endfundamentalism.org/blog/20061202/mark-driscoll-apologizes-the-protest-is-off/">paul's post</a><span style="font-family: arial;">. Read these and join me in utter amazement, worship, and awe of our reconciling God!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:85%;" >Note: Mark's change in language does not change my fear of his leadership in Seattle. It was not the diminuitive words he used that caused friends at SPU to consider dropping out because they were "wasting [their] future husband's money" when they weren't even yet acquainted with whoever this<span style="font-style: italic;"> future husband</span> might be. It was not Mark's strong language alone that cause a close friend of mine to leave Mars Hill with a fear and hesitancy towad church. It was not the words he chooses that made this same friend stunned when, for the first time in two years of attendence, she heard a sermon about grace and realized that she hadn't for years.<br /><br />Mark's theology is still dangerous to women and in general - so long as women are not given space and encouragement to explore fully, and to appreciate as beautiful, who God has made them to be and until grace is the heart of every sermon and the hinge of Mars Hill's existence, I will continue in fervent prayer for Mark's heart and theology to be changed or for his platform here in Seattle to be removed entirely.</span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1164963786457862032006-12-01T00:58:00.000-08:002006-12-01T01:03:07.080-08:00announcing manger art '06<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.crystalinks.com/magi.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.crystalinks.com/magi.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /> <!--Invitation Particulars --> <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="100%"><tbody><tr valign="top"> <td style="padding-top: 10px;" width="13%"><a href="http://www.evite.com/pages/gt/people/view.jsp?eUserID=emYiWBcQp2ZleSCAjfnoV7Vr2DYw3/1BhcAz1XAY/4U=" onclick="return showLinks()" class="inform">Host:</a> </td> <td class="txt" style="padding-top: 10px;" width="87%">Work of Art Ministries: Changing the world can only be a Work of Art</td> </tr> <tr valign="top"> <td style="padding-top: 10px;"> <a href="javascript:createNewMap();" class="inform">Location:</a> </td> <td style="padding-top: 10px;" class="txt">The Levi Room (Next to Post Office)<br />23302 56TH Ave W, Mountlake Ter, WA <a href="javascript:createNewMap();">View Map</a> </td> </tr> <tr valign="top"> <td class="txt" style="padding-top: 10px; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: 13px;"><b>When</b>: </td> <td class="txt" style="padding-top: 10px;">Saturday, December 16, 6:00pm</td> </tr> <tr valign="top"> <td class="txt" style="padding-top: 10px; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: 13px;"><b>Phone</b>: </td> <td class="txt" style="padding-top: 10px;">(206) 359-5723</td> </tr> <tr> <td style="padding: 10px 0px 20px;" colspan="2" class="txt">Remember the story of kings following a single star to find a new king? Remember the extravagent gifts they brought? Remember what they hoped for in that king, in that baby named Jesus? It is again the time of year when we contemplate their trek, when we wonder what this king meant, who he was, what hope he represents. It is the time of the year that we sit by a warm fire and sing "Jesus Christ is born today!"<br /><br />But, what does it mean to say or sing, <span style="font-size:100%;">"Jesus Christ is born today"</span>? It is a celebratory, hopeful thing to say or sing. Whether you believe Jesus to be God, the Savior of the world, a prophet, or a character who believed in love, healing the sick, feeding the poor, and longing, dreaming for a new world, to say "Jesus Christ is born today" means something more than Christmas trees, nativity sets, Santa Claus and cookies<span style="font-size:100%;">. <span style="font-size:130%;">Work of Art Ministries, in line with the full meaning of this phrase, invites you to celebrate the season with hope, and work towards a different world of health and peace!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Manger Art is an annual Art Show to benefit the two-thirds world. </span>This year the exhibit will be up and for sale for three months (December 16-March 10). <span style="font-size:130%;">We will be opening the exhibit with a gala event including live music from</span> <a target="_blank" title="Deb Montgomery" href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=34419492"><span style="font-size:180%;">Deb Montgomery</span></a><a title="Deb Montgomery" target="_blank" href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=6389733"> </a>and <a title="Hollis Brown" href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=6389733"><span style="font-size:180%;">Hollis Brown</span></a> as well as <span style="font-size:130%;">live poetry <span style="font-size:100%;">including one of Seattle's top slam poets, Ryler Dustin and others from Bellingham's Lobster Manor Poetry Night</span></span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">The </span><span style="font-size:180%;">suggested <span style="font-size:6;">$6</span> donation</span>, as well as all proceeds of items sold will go to <span style="font-size:180%;">benefit<a href="http://www.invisiblechildren.com"> Invisible Children</a></span>.<br /><br />There will be paintings, photography, mixed media, and quality artwork gifts (perfect for Christmas gifts!) to view, contemplate, and hopefully pruchase!<br /><br />We hope that you will join us for this chance to celebrate Christmas, the world, and the hope for peace, health, and happieness across the world that the baby Jesus came to transform and save!</td></tr></tbody></table>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1164535132703855132006-11-26T01:33:00.000-08:002006-11-27T15:20:17.080-08:00a note to the boys of greenwood glen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5136/1075/1600/626935/bogg.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5136/1075/320/848334/bogg.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">a rant:<br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">if you want to be a cheesey folk band with schtick and white snake-skin cowboy boots, that's ok. do your thing. i'm ok; you're ok; we're all ok. to each his own. etc. right?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">just don't call yourself an "irish band" when your version of "that's another reason why i left </span><span style=""><span style="font-family:arial;">Old Skibbereen" sounds like a stupid song from "a mighty wind." you are more a christopher guest than a chieftan.</span></span></blockquote><span style=""><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />on disappointment:<br />i've been told that i am a person who is often disappointed. i never let anyone know that they have disappointed me. i don't know why. i think it has something to do with them, then, having power over me. i really don't know.<br /><br />when i am disappointed, though, i can't let go of the dream that has been dashed.<br /><br />i was going to see an irish band tonight. i've known and looked to and counted on that fact all week. they would probably play<span style="font-style: italic;"> the irish rover</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">get to heaven half an hour before the devil knows you are dead</span>. i would sing along. maybe they would even sing <span style="font-style: italic;">wild rover</span> and we would all wave our glasses in the air as we sang along and i dreampt that i was actually in ireland - in a place where life will be better - a place i dream of nearly every night - a place i've hidden many lonely or <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">disappointing </span>nights. i would eat clam chowder and have a bailey's coffee.<br /><br />what happened? the band was not irish. they just weren't. they were infuriatingly un-irish. the bailey's coffee was horrible. there was no chowder. the fish and chips i ordered ended up making me feel sick. i could not picture being in ireland. nothing felt like home. it was not a dream.<br /><br />but i clung. as my friends told me how miserable i looked, i clung: "maybe they will play <span style="font-style: italic;">the irish rover</span>. even they can't make that un-irish." but they could and they would have if i didn't finally allow the dream to end and leave me unsatisfied and, once again, disappointed.<br /><br />similarly, i just got an invitation to my 5 year college reunion. i'm a nanny and a failed youth minister. i have one graduate degree, but its nearly useless to me. i'm in school, and not doing much. i was going to graduate seminary at 23 and be in the mission field (ireland) for two years. i would be married and adopting my first child within a year. i have failed my dreams. more disappointment. always disappointment.<br /><br />what will it mean to learn to live in disappointment? will i still have hope? will i cling to dying dreams? will i find something other than disappointment in a present that is nothing like the future i had dreamed it would be? will find fulfillment in being a nanny? will i be satisfied in my roles of friend, pastor, god-mother, unofficial aunt (the girl i nanny calls me "aunt becky"), social activist, dreamer, unpublished author, student, and yearning revolutionary?<br /></span></span><span style=""><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >tonight i am disappointed in the boys of greenwood glen and am finding fellowship and love with my friends...little lost and much gained.</span><br /></span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1163711487459087462006-11-16T12:23:00.000-08:002006-11-19T04:25:50.066-08:00world aids day, seattle, 2006<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.franciscansinternational.org/img/829.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.franciscansinternational.org/img/829.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >so, what has broken my nearly 2 months of unintentional blog fasting? at this moment, i do not<span style="font-style: italic;"> heart </span>seattle. i am infact, based on a preliminary search for an AIDS day event to involve my church in, ashamed of her.<br /><br />As far as I have been able to discover, there is nothing - no great out cry - no vigil - no demonstration - nothing!!! happening for World AIDS Day in Seattle. Two days later, there is a <a href="http://www.endfundamentalism.org/">protest of Mars Hill Church,</a> but nothing for AIDS Day.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >I'm going to do something. Get a red candle - <span style="font-style: italic;">or two</span> - and meet me at Golden Gardens at 7pm on Friday, December 1st. Invite friends, family, church member, ANYONE! <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">EVERYONE</span><span style="font-style: italic;">!!! </span>It won't be anything big, just a time for prayer, meditation, and hopefully sharing some information on what we, the people of my beloved city, can do.</span><br /><br />This is not just <span style="font-style: italic;">some</span> cause. <span style="font-size:130%;">It is <span style="font-weight: bold;">the</span> cause of our generation</span>. If you think extreme poverty is the problem, you are wrong because you cannot treat extreme poverty without treating AIDS. Young farmers who could produce the food needed to feed their families are dying. Poverty cannot end amidst the AIDS pandemic.<br /><br />In 2005, there were 2.8 million deaths resulting from AIDS. Of this 2.8 million, 2 million were in sub-saharan Africa. In sub-saharan Africa, 2.7 million children were newly affected with AIDS.<br /><br />Every week, as many people die of AIDS as there were American casualties in the Vietnam War.<br /><br />Women are in particular danger as they often do not have the right to decide whether or not to have sex and whom to have it with.<br /><br />Stop for a minute, count: </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >one-mississippi, </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >two-mississippi, </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >three-mississippi, </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >four-mississippi, </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >five-mississippi, </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >six-mississippi, seven - stop. one person has been infected with AIDS.<br /><br />6,000 children are orphaned by AIDS every day. 15.2 million children world wide have lost parents to AIDS and less than 10% are recieving aid from their governments.<br /><br />Visit <a href="http://www.worldvision.com.au/wvconnect/content.asp?topicID=17">World Vision Austrailia's cite</a> for some information on how AIDS affects sub-saharan Africa.<br />Take the <a href="http://www.worldvision.org/resources.nsf/main/AidsTest.html/$FILE/AidsTest.html">World Vision AIDS test</a>.<br /><a href="https://secure2.convio.net/wv/site/Advocacy?page=UserAction&cmd=display&id=177">Contact the White House</a>.<br /><a href="http://www.worldvision.org/get_involved.nsf/child/hope_pray?Open">Become a World Vision AIDS prayer partner.</a><br />Take one minute and use your cell phone to sign a petition:<br /></span><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >Just follow these simple text message instructions to "Make Your Mark for Children" affected by AIDS:</span> <ul type="disc"><li><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >Create a new text message with only the word </span><b><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >“CHILD”</span></b><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" > in the message.</span> </li><li><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >Send that message to the number </span><b><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >77812</span></b><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >.</span> </li><li><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >World Vision will confirm your petition signature and allow you to opt-in to periodic mobile alerts on World Vision HIV/AIDS relief efforts.</span> </li><li><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >If you are having trouble with the mobile petition, please add your signature to the </span><a href="https://secure2.convio.net/wv/site/Advocacy?id=177&lid=advocate_aids&lpos=main" class="center2"><u><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >online petition</span></u><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" > </span></a><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" >instead.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;">We cannot stand by.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1163732104214048532006-11-16T18:43:00.000-08:002006-11-16T18:55:04.236-08:00correctionthere are some things happening in Seattle, however, they have a local AIDS bent rather than a focus on the global pandemic. So...check these out and see what fits best.<br /><br />I still hope to see you all (in the Seattle area) at Golden Gardens.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1163551069036373992006-11-14T16:36:00.000-08:002006-11-14T16:37:49.036-08:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">so, i'm working on a new template, but blogspot is pissing me off...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">hopefully there will be a new template by the end of the week. </span><br /></span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1160711880241621572006-10-12T19:33:00.000-07:002006-10-12T21:08:06.630-07:00killer coke<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/1600/mehdiganj6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/320/mehdiganj6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/1600/mehdiganj13.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/320/mehdiganj13.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/1600/mehdiganj17.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/320/mehdiganj17.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />These are pictures from a protest of Coca-Cola in India.<br />Please check out <a href="http://www.killercoke.org">Killer Coke</a> and, please, please let your life be radically for the poor at least enough to choose a different soft drink!<br /><blockquote>Police Attack Coca-Cola Protest in Mehdiganj, India; Over 350 Arrested<br />"Towards the end of the rally, the marchers decided to march to the factory gates, about a hundred meters from the site of the rally. The armed police reacted violently and swiftly, with no warnings. The armed police launched a vicious lathi (baton) charge on all the marchers, and many women, in particular, became the target of male police officers who beat them incessantly. The police also chased after community members in the surrounding fields to beat them, many of whom were escaping the site of the violent police action. A Budhist monk was also attacked by the police, who showed no regard whatsoever for any one present in the area. The police attacks were ordered by Mr. Tahir Iqbal, ADM of police in Varanasi."<br />-Killer Coke's report on the protest</blockquote><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/1600/cokebrochure1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/400/cokebrochure1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/1600/cokebrochure2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/400/cokebrochure2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1160099546722287322006-10-05T18:50:00.000-07:002006-10-05T18:52:26.756-07:00introducing bonhoeffer jr. (nickname: bono baby)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/1600/scooter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5136/1075/200/scooter.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />finally! i have a scooter!Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1159896115535761882006-10-03T10:19:00.000-07:002006-10-03T10:34:22.730-07:00dual relationships<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.victorianweb.org/painting/fmb/glass/5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.victorianweb.org/painting/fmb/glass/5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Sitting at Green Lake Bar and Grill over Sunday Brunch, I talked with one of my friends about how strange it is that many of my relationships are gaining a new layer as I am taking on the role of pastor. True, my two closest friends who are a part of the church have already told me that I am pastor to them whether or not I am leading the church community they currently belong to – still, there is something new being born. I told her that one person is going to be my roommate, a member of my trinity of best friends, and a member of my church. “Woah, woah, woah! Way too many dual relationships there,” my alarmed friend frantically and authoritatively cautioned me, “You need to figure out a way to make that less of a dual relationship.” She proceeded to tell me that this is a dangerous relationship – that it is not nearly as safe as a counseling relationship. Isn’t this the goal though? Isn’t life much more dangerous than an hour in the office of your counselor? Isn’t a truly reciprocal relationship much more scary, often harmful, and always redemptive than one where one person is clearly set aside solely for the care of another?<br /><br />Yet, there is another layer here. When you are pastor, it is one – very difficult – thing to not only care but be cared for in your suffering, sin, woundedness etc. It is another – from my vantage point – to be cared for in your suffering and woundedness for the people who call you pastor. How did Peter look into Jesus’ eyes? How did Peter receive his pain? How can Peter care for Jesus’ woundedness or even hear of it without being shamed for having hurt the one who care for and loved him – who guides him in his spiritual growth.<br /><br />And it is the dual relationship that saves Jesus. Peter cannot not know that he has hurt Jesus. He cannot not know Jesus’ wounds. Peter cannot not know that Jesus has seen him, deeply, fully, and in all aspects of life – on good and bad days – in decisions for life and for death. In that dual relationship, when Jesus responds to Peter’s confession and broken heart, the fact that Jesus calls him Peter and not Simon begins to heal the shame already; the cowardly man is still the rock; he is still who he was created to be and called by Jesus to be. Jesus then asks the question to which he knows the answer: “Do you love me?” He asks it three times – one for every sign of lovelessness Peter sent Jesus’ way. Each time, he responds – “You, the one who I named Peter, who lived with and loved me, who denied me in my darkest hour, and who loves me deeply – you who are neither pristine nor shameful but who is one who lives abundantly and who can live abundantly with others – you, feed my sheep.” He says to him, “I know you – your light and your darkness – your struggle and your journeying. Knowing all this, I know you love me and I give to you the interdependent care of my precious children.”<br /><br />And, as I am the penitant Peter - failing, denying, cowardly, passionately flailing and hitting others as I do - yet I am asked "feed my lambs." thus, feeble failing i when pricked to bleed, invite others into this gifted place at the feet and in the love of Jesus.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1159857677884910762006-10-02T23:35:00.000-07:002006-10-02T23:41:17.913-07:00i know many of you have been coming here to look for an update on how sunday went. it was amazing and hopeful.<br /><br />it was also painful and terrifying. i have so much emotion and fear and brokeness and exhaustion tied up in the hope and thrill of the experience that i just don't have words. <br /><br />hopefully i will return to you with more. i feel the need for a retreat but lack the time.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12599306.post-1159197602445510662006-09-25T08:07:00.000-07:002006-09-25T08:20:02.473-07:00out of town and out of contextfirst:<br />thanks to one and all (excepting gruber) for comments of encouragement in the face of myspace! we can take solice in knowing that one day all evil empires like myspace will end! (joking - but also not. i know of at least one marriage that had ended violently because of myspace and cannot imagine the number of lives of young women that have lost so much glory to sexualization at ages 10, 11, 12, 13 - so, it really is sort of evil)<br /><br />second:<br />anyway, i'm off to a conference today, but had to leave you with these new quotes brought to you by trusty spies, bryan nixon and carin taylor.<br /><blockquote>"I've always wanted to be a bobble-head."<br />"Have you ever been thrown out of a bar? I have."<br />- From Sexual Disorders</blockquote><br /><blockquote>"Especially at the beginning of the day, you don't know what pants I'm wearing."<br />"The Trotskyites wouldn't even take me."<br />"You've got cooties."<br />"Have you ever lusted and wanted to kill people? 'Uh-huh (yes).' Then we want you as our candidate."<br />"Anarchy, but no pink."<br />"I'm just going to wear bold shirts and marry someone who lives in a trailer."<br />"I would've had far more integrity and joy if I had picked up the whole doughnut."<br />"I was like, 'You have to take a test to get into law school? Bummer.'"<br />"I get to hallucinate on your behalf."<br />"I don't care about being incontinent."<br />"You might as well just have a hologram up here."<br />"You shouldn't be drinking cheap beer. There will be no cheap beer in the kingdom of God. Just get over Pabst Blue Ribbon."<br />"Frankly, I don't like God."<br />"I don't like anything I teach, and I know most of it's not true."<br />"I know people on crack who are happy."<br />"It's like putting me in a tutu. Does that help?"<br />- From Faith Hope and Love</blockquote><br />Thanks Carin and Bryan - until next semester, this is the end of quotes out of context! Blessings as you spend the rest of the semester digesting and unpacking the depht that accompanied them - their <span style="font-weight:bold;">context<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span>, if you will.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03546501394809508134noreply@blogger.com0