settle in your stomach.

life is new again.

it is like when you drink cold water and you can feel it travel down your esophagus and settle in your stomach.

unbelievably satisfying.

where the horizon should go.

today the sea and sky can't decide where the horizon should go.

they are both sincerely bad with boundaries, a flaw that they both admit is born out of their desire to be closer to the other.

the clouds daring to run its fingers across the icy blue. we call this a thick marine layer. we say that the fog is rolling in. but the sky is just caressing the sea.

and the sea doesn't mind.

the sea billows towards the lofty sun, and crashes loudly. we call these waves. but the sea is in a fit, willing to collapse within itself, willing to forgo the embarrassment to get a little closer then before. and they sky does not laugh or ridicule the seas attempts.

it welcomes them.

mexican part deux

my brother was in town this weekend and filled our fridge and pantry with ingredients that would not normally be there.

arabic bread. (think pita)

feta cheese.

cucumber-corn-tomato-onion-other-tasty-veggie salad.

to name a few...

and in my attempt to stuff said arabic bread, which was falling apart quickly,

i inadvertently turned it into a burrito.

of course, a burrito.

one would expect nothing less of such a refined latina.

i am certain that one day i will find myself doing this very thing in a

restaurant somewhere

suprising someone.

crummy decision

dear vocal folds,

i know you hate me. maybe hate is too strong of a word. but i know you are at least slightly upset and terribly shocked as i put you through five or six hours of singing on sunday. i haven't done that in a long while. it was a crummy decision as far as health goes. but i need you to come back. i'll treat you better. i've let you be mostly silent today. not even expecting a sound. but how i need you!

desperately waiting,

me

when i wake up

sometimes when i wake up,

i throw back my covers to jump into the lap of the Father.

it is oh so safe and wonderful.

and we watch the generous warmth of the sun pour over the city and all who inhabit it.

He tells me these are His children, dearly loved, created in His image.

He wishes they'd jump into His lap some morning.

me too.

chalkdays [pass due]

this is my friend alexis (to the right, to the right).

this summer we went to a park nearby and played with chalk.

there were lots more pictures.

documenting our silliness and our impressive chalk skillz.

(yes, i spelled that with a z. and yes, i am an original gangsta.)

but these will do....

until we strike again.

what what?

vibrant with possibility

today i am

in want of courage.

lots of it.

because desiring an integrated life

[no gaps. no compartmentalization.]

will take that

and much more.

and thankful for

air involuntarily filling and exiting my lungs.

oxygenating my blood.

my muscles.

gas to get to school on a jam packed freeway.

a job with children.

they are vibrant with possibility -

little mozarts

adolescent einsteins

all of them sparkling with destiny.

because we forget that we don't deserve these things.

we aren't entiltled to the luxuries that we've deemed ordinary.

that we expect to be there.

to always be there.

thankyouthankyouthankyou, giver and sustainer of life.

thankfulness the mother of excitement

my freshman year of college i was frightened the most lucid white as i stepped on campus.

i only knew a handful of people. and of those, only knew one really well.

my sophmore year of college i was less frightened.

i still had not made many more friends. i was still a commuter. it was the most challenging year of my life thus far. self-awareness. awareness in general. movement away from things and people that had defined me for far too long.

this is my junior year.

and i am not frightened.

i stepped onto campus for music campus registration.

the sea's breath like a

tornado of

welcoming ribbons

round my body.

overcome with a sense of belonging.

my feet

thick and strong

roots

in the ground

beneath.

and only a handful (or two) of friends.

but i can call them friends.

thankfulness the mother

of excitement.

and i still commute. i will most likely never live on campus. but passing hundreds of cars on the freeway at twenty (or seventy five) miles per hour. filled with people who have big noses and deep set eyes whose lives are intricately complex. is something i love. not to mention the sun hanging brightly in the morning sky between whitest clouds.

a commuter at heart. who prefers a room with one bed. and enjoys the company of none. who is re-energized by solitude. even though it scared her at first. and finds herself drained when spending all day with people. but who is extremely grateful for a shared existence. a community of sinners and saints who are, in their own unique ways - whether they are aware of it or not, reaching for the hem of His garment.

balance, stacey, balance.

a sweet dance. duo.

aloneness.

community.

this year shall be resplendent:

in color

in thought

in movement

[period]

blow my way

i appreciate nights like tonight.

pandora playing.

sweating a little because the AC doesn't blow my way.

when i can use sleeves to my sister's old sweater & some twine to make a headband.

oh, and some thread.

stuff to offer.

as i am typing this post i am listening to:

press play and enjoy.

today is my official last day of summer.

i'm not sure were summer went. or if every moment was spent wisely. and i'm sure wrong choices were made. even if they were just in my mind. or my heart. and nobody really knew about how hard it was and still is to cut ties. but everyone can see that i'm bad at it. even though they don't know it is what i'm up to. but i made good choices. and i'm getting better at it too.

i saw a few movies. started a book club with a few ladies. we are on our second book. the first was alright. i feel like the author was in a rush to finish the book. which made me want to get it over with very quickly. now we are reading "the weight of silence." and it's very satisfying thus far. i didn't go to beach too often. but mostly because summer never really showed up. and the goosebumps never really left. i went out to eat with different people. because they actually had something to say. i started to write more. for my own enjoyment. i drew on sidewalks with a friend. with chalk. and children joined us. i made asparagus and red potatoes and yellow corn. i need to learn how to cook meat. because vegetables are good for ones stomach, but just don't appease my stomach's hunger pangs as does lemon garlic chicken. i basically finished my room. and indulged in creative crafts. i pondered you. and other people. and how life will look soon enough. and how it doesn't really matter how it will look. as long as i'm with jesus. but i still wonder how it will look. because it scares me before i go to sleep. like cobwebs that stick to your hands and hair when you try and comb them away. until i remember that it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter. i started to run. then i stopped. because running is no fun at all. the soreness i don't mind. the early mornings are doable. but i'd rather sit at a park or in a tree. maybe this fall will stitch together, in yellow and orange thread, a love for this healthy pastime. or maybe i'll just start knitting.

and although the interview for this job was a whopping forty minutes long. accompanied with laughter. and well-formulated off-the-top-of-my-head answers. i didn't get the job. i'd be fifteen minutes late for work everyday. i don't understand what the problem would be. :). and even though i need a job, desperately - to fulfill my own desire for more grown-up responsibility. i'm okay with this. the interview went well. and i walked away confident that i have stuff to offer. that i am generous with smiles. that i am somewhat put together. that my words are organized and honest and gentle. and the little girl who tried so hard to achieve and compete for attention and a place can be laid to rest in green pastures. by quiet waters. untouched waters, glass and light and stillness. all goodness buzzing about.

tomorrow i start music camp.

and next wednesday, school.

today is full of hope.

doodads and whatnots: a story of a room in transition

a chair.

twenty five dollars of peach glory.

perfectly soiled.

i keep telling myself i'm going to clean it.

but i don't know how to. heh.

details get me every time.

sometimes accidents are pretty.

right side up.

can't decide if this lamp needs a lampshade.

glass gifts. full of paper scraps. nails. ribbon&loosepearls.

close up.

dad's old water cooler put to good use with some of these.

and did i mention new bedding?

:)

without

while catching up on cold case reruns i made these:

almost one hundred and twenty.

i'll use them for cards and hair pins.

and for decorations.

but i love the way they look on this table.

flowers without stems.

vibrant without water or sunshine.

alive.

real grown up

a while back i turned in applications at various private schools, intending to land a job in the after school/childcare department.

i got a call this morning.

and while it might be a close call in getting to work on time

due to my school hours.

maybe they will make slight adjustments?

this is my first interview in a very long time.

very long time meaning... about three years.

what do i wear?

is there such a thing as being too early?

what do i say?

where's my pocket thesaurus and notepad of clever, endearing phrases?

sooo...

interview: landed.

job: not landed (yet).

eeks. i'm turning into real grown up.

only way to go there

"you have an idea of what the new country looks like. still, you are very much at home, although not truly at peace, in the old country. you know the ways of the old country, its joys and pains, its happy and sad moments. you have spent most of your days there. even though you know that you have not found there what your heart most desires, you remain quite attatched to it. it has become part of your very bones.

now you have come to realize that you must leave it and enter the new country, where your Beloved dwells. you know that what helped and guided you in the old country no longer works, but what else do you go by? you are being asked to trust that you will find what you need in the new country. that requires the death of what has become so precious to you: influence, success, yes, even affection and praise.

trust is so hard, since you have nothing to fall back on. still, trust is what is essential. the new country is where you are called to go, and the only way to go there is naked and vulnerable.

it seems that you keep crossing and recrossing the border. for a while you experience a real joy in the new country. but then you feel afraid and start longing again for all you left behind, so you go back to the old country. to your dismay, you discover that the old country has lost its charm. risk a few more steps into the new country, trusting that each time you enter it, you will feel more comfortable and be able to stay longer."

henri j.m. nouwen

mexican

yesterday i was driving to book club* and my windows were distractingly dirty. as i pulled onto the street i realized that an accident would soon take place if i did not clean them. on go my windsheild wipers. the water and soap mixture sprays out.... on the passengers side. the squirter that covers my field of vision was evidently clogged. needless to say jenny could see the road oh so clearly. i, on the other hand, squinted for twenty five minutes through thick streaks and a strong glare.

book club lasted an hour and a half.

we are about to finish:

the particular sadness of lemon cake by aimee bender

before we drove home, i realized that my eyes would have to battle the red glare from brakelights as the sun had rest it's head below the horizon. so i proceeded to take my almost finished water bottle and pour its remaining contents on my side of the windshield. hurried in the car and turned on the windshield wipers. for some reason, this made me feel extremely mexican. it's something my mother would have done. except she would have wiped it down with a napkin or a tissue.

i love her.

and i love that i've inherited her mexican tendencies.

now i just need to master her enchiladas

tamales

and other finger-licking good dishes.

*i haven't mentioned this yet. tomorrow, i promise.

more often.

today i wore no makeup*.

and did not feel an iota less than beautiful for one single moment.

i think i will do this more often.

because i am beautiful.

with no need for enhancement via CoverGirl or MAC.

*this excludes everything EXCEPT chapstick and a quick curl of the eyelashes since mine are pin straight.

the debris.

the past hour i saw the deterioration of a relationship between my mother and my sister.

i saw the past repeat itself.

angry words like bulldozers in shoddy buildings.

ground zero in my living room.

the debris is suffocating.

and i saw children who were afraid.

and i saw a mother who was afraid.

and i, too, felt afraid.

i'll embrace the flame

He dares to be more intimate with myself than I do. searching out the lowest parts. desiring truth in the innermost parts. familiar with all my faults and failings. He is giving me what i have asked for. cried for. to know Him. to be like Him. to dwell with Him in the beauty of His holiness. to be holy as He is holy. to talk with Him face to face like a friend.

He longs to lead me in paths of righteousness for His names sake. and all idols must be destroyed, must be cast into His loving gentle hands. and His fiery gaze that promises sustenance will have to be enough. i won't be afraid, i'll embrace the flame. though it may sting. and reduce. it is refining. gold will not be the name of a precious element, but a description of the state of my heart. pure. without extraneous matter. dross burned up with fire. fear burned up with love.

intimacy requires sacrifice.

to cultivate relationship with the Holy One of Israel i must desert the time and affections i give so easily and blindly to others.

and more than sacrifice, obedience.

if you love me, you will obey my commands.

john 14:15

not despising His instruction or authority.

not disregarding His statutes. but delighting in His life-giving, life-sustaining word. assured that correction and discipline are an overflow of the Father's love. convinced that the law of His love is grace and mercy and justice.

His courts are lovely. His dwelling place is majestic.

my home, the secret place, the altar of sacrifice.

obedience sweetened by love for the Beautiful One.

feverish

the stones leading to my front door aren't round.

they are slabs of speckled concrete. square. plain. light grey.

they aren't dainty. or whimsical.

not like the stones that lead to secret gardens or hideaways where rebellious sophisticates rendezvous.

they are upfront and don't lie about how hard they are. or how people who drag their feet end up with stubbed toes.

but their hardness has welcomed me since the third grade.

this morning i saw a lizard with cracked skin scrambling across the third stone.

spry with anxiety. feverish. urgent.

and around it's back was an interminable string - thin, sheer, taut- attatched to the sun.

summer riding high like a kite.

the prison between the binding

reading time was his least favorite time of day. the teacher's pencil skirt zipped so tight, seemed to be like mummys wrappings, well-fitted grave clothes.

shhh. no talking.

the words did not make sense unless they were spoken. they longed to be spoken.

but for forty minutes each school day, he flipped the pages without understanding.

the ships would not leave the dock.

the adventurers added locks to their doors.

bluejays sang and nobody heard them.

children were ignored like shriveled prunes that nobody likes.

forty minutes of pretending.

then on to history - when the sea tasted like salty tea.

compliments of incensed colonists.

but his voice was like magic and justice. it liberated words, black with languish. and ships. and adventurers. it gave bluejays and children the freedom that only an attentive listener could. an earthquake of sound emancipated the captives in the prison between the binding.

their life was on his lips:

endless oceans and mountain ranges and skies and jungle gyms.