Moments and Mishaps in My Life after College

31 ways to live with class in 2012

2012-01-27T09:51:00.000+11:00

Let's face it. Some people are born Prince William, and some are born Eliza Doolittle. Wherever you are on that spectrum, here are a few ways to add class to your life that I've picked up from classy, clever people I admire.

1. Write thank you notes - promptly

2. Make your bed - most days

3. Sneeze into your elbow or handkerchief - not the air that the general populace is breathing

4. Read the newspaper - necessary for making small talk during cocktail hour at weddings

5. Be patient with people - nothing says classy like keeping your temper in check

6. Decide how you like your eggs, or anything else cooked - thank you, Runaway Bride

7. Manage your time well - yes, that includes Facebook and reading, um, blogs

8. Be a gracious guest - hostess gifts, not outstaying your welcome, and being generally pleasant

9. Be the best version of yourself - don't try to be someone else, but know you have room for improvement

10. Give up your seat for people who are older than you

11. Keep the latest gossip to yourself

12. Pick up after yourself - banana peels, candy wrappers, ticket stubs, all these belong in the trash (except maybe the banana, which can be composted)

13. Avoid slurping, munching, crunching, and other eating noises

14. Stay clean, if you can, and if you can't, don't fuss - if a baby spits up on you, freaking out is rude

15. Try new things

16. Wear the right socks for the occasion

17. Own a current resume with your name on it

18. Know what you believe and be able to express it eloquently

19. Travel, and if you can't travel, read National Geographic

20. Mind your p's and q's - please and thank you are the foundations of courtesy and class

21. Treat people considered "less important" than you with courtesy - wait staff, store clerks, there is no "less important" person

22. Read - poetry, biographies, history, modern fiction, classics, if you don't like reading, get it on tape

23. Own dress clothes

24. Keep in touch with people you love

25. Learn how to listen

26. Cook something - even if you can only cook one thing, that's one thing more than before

27. Smell good

28. Never be too busy to help

29. Keep your priorities straight

30. Eat your vegetables

31. Smile

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Can we stay up until 60:30??

2012-01-24T23:10:00.001+11:00

Babysitting is one of those meaningful, philosophical, find yourself, lose yourself, answer life's big questions kind of experiences. I would recommend it in lieu of going on a pilgrimage to a monastery or taking a vow of silence in the forest because it pays better and more interesting things will happen to you.

You could have small children crowded on your lap for a story. Monks don't do that. You might realize that love and discipline go hand in hand when they're trying to give themselves a chocolate tummyache or pull the five year old version of an all nighter. Forests don't eat chocolate.

Go out in the forest and sit on your bum for a day if you'd like. It will be nice and… leafy. Meditate in a monastery and drink tea and attempt pseudo philosopher status. It will be… quiet. But if you really want to know about human nature, about your strengths and weaknesses, about your ability to multitask and perform under pressure, just go babysit.

If I were a recruiter for a big name corporation who really wanted to see what you were made of, I'd magically procure a 4, 6, and 8 year old and leave you with them. If I came back and they were jumping on couches and had faces smeared with chocolate, I'd know you struggle with boundaries and those kids were better at closing deals than you. If I came back and they were all quietly tucked in bed and the house was clean, I'd know you're either a great motivator or a workaholic - your blood pressure would give you away. If the kids said you yelled and fussed, I'd know I could never trust you with my big name, high maintenance accounts.

After spending several hours with small children, you will have likely discovered the following:

1. Can we stay up until 60:30? Should not be answered with an explanation of a 24 hour day, but "whoa, that's wayyyy too late."

2. Good hiding spots diminish exponentially as you age. Stick with ordinary spots that exploit a 4 foot high vantage point.

3. The exact number of chocolates it's ok to have before bedtime, because of course, you know that.

4. Not wanting to go to bed is universal.

5. You will be strict, or you will be walked all over, take your pick.

6. They will cry.

7. They will pout.

8. They will want just one more drink.

9. They will feign a fascination with literature if one more story means a delayed bed time.

10. They will try to tell you that mommy dearest told them they could stay up until she and daddy darling got home.

Don't fall for their tricks. Explain, but be brief. Sympathize, but be firm. Above all, don't lose them or let them set themselves on fire. That's important.

We're not supernannies, but SG and I did have them in bed by 8:30 and gave up no territory at the Battle of 8:40, 8:50, or 9:00.

Who you going to call?

Little Miss Sunshine

Sit Still and Look Sexy

2012-01-23T17:40:00.000+11:00

Dear Head of World Advertising,

You have failed. I know you thought you had me. And you did, for a while. I was actually beginning to think I knew what men wanted. I bought the mascara you had J. Lo selling, thinking what men wanted was darker, thicker J. Lo lashes. You do quite a thorough job, you know. You dress the girls on commercials and make sure they haven't a blemish. Anywhere. You plaster your magazines with "health and fitness" tips for unattainable airbrushed abs that your editors spend hours shadowing and shaping on PhotoShop.

The girls you have selling lingerie for Victoria's Secret think all men want is sex, and if you give it to them, then maybe they'll want you as a person. They're wrong. You had me thinking men wanted

Skinny legs in skinny jeans

And smoky eyes that said - you want me

And plenty of skin in all the right places

I wasn't so sure they were wrong until the other day when I was reading this blog. That's not what men want. They want beautiful best friends, not porn stars. They want living, breathing real people to share their lives with. They want women worth fighting for, not cheap eye-batting, slinking shadows of girls.

You tell them what they want, just like you tried to tell me. You tried to convince me that sexy is beautiful and beauty means worthy of love. You tried to convince me not to speak my mind because that could get controversial and people might not agree with what I have to say. Forget climbing trees and singing in public. Better to sit still and look sexy, you said. You told them chivalry is dead. You screamed it through a hundred feminist megaphones and a thousand confused looks after they tried to lighten a heavy load. You told them women are something to use to feel better about yourself, kind of like a Kleenex.

Well, Head of World Advertising, this letter is to notify you, not only that you are the scum of the earth, but also that I refuse to subscribing to your propaganda any longer. You have wrought enough havoc. Men and women were made for more than that.

Not cordially yours, not yours at all anymore,

Little Miss Sunshine

Aaaaand, we're back.

2012-01-21T22:27:00.000+11:00

No more quiet birds. No more desert. We're back to Vegemite in the pantry and the good old beachy beach views from the house. SG and I are back to the Land Down Under. Weirdly enough, I can hear our host mom singing the American national anthem from the kitchen. (That's not a normal Australian thing, you just have to know our host mom.)

We're taking a second go round where host homes are concerned. We're back to the couple we started with, then house sitting for their neighbors again (the ones with Attila the dog), then maybe back with Ian and Joan. It's a peachy spot, with a ten minute walk to the beach, and not a bad walk down the hill to church and work.

Christmas break was wonderful. I mean, wonderful. There was time with the brothers, the parents, the besties. I got to go dancing, there was Christmas, it was great. It was so great, in fact, that I considered not getting back on the plane. I really did. I thought, well, I could just not get on the plane and drop off the face of the earth. It's not as though Pastor John is going to fly to America to come get me.

As that was complete stuff and nonsense, I marched my American behind onto that plane to finish what we started. Australia has its perks, after all. There are Ian and Ilma and other Ian and other Ian (there are lots of Ians here). There are the friends like Chez and Sammy and Eliza and Catty and Jake and Cath and TJ (who loves it when he gets a blog shoutout) and Joel and Will and the rest, who are so cool and seem to like us for some reason. There are all the church people who have adopted us as their grandgirls. There are the adventures I get to have with SG, like going to the cricket in Melbourne and getting slightly pinkish at the beach from too much reading in the sand.

It was hard to leave home, but it's good to be back. Being a church intern isn't easy. Sure, you have low living expenses and you live by the beach, but sometimes it gets complicated. Sometimes I think it's way beyond my scope of ability to think through foundational doctrines and then figure out applying them to how church works.

But hey, it's not like we're trying to do this alone. God is walking close beside us, teaching us all kinds of things along the way. Positions like these expose your weaknesses in an annoyingly edifying way. All of a sudden I have a whole lot of respect for ministers who do this as their life's calling.

Thank you for your cards, your hugs, your continuing prayers and support. Keep right on praying that God turns Australia to Him, as He is more than worth the attention of a continent. Keep right on praying that SG and I would be a team that trusts God to work in dark places and also in our own hearts as we walk with Him.

Love you so much,

Little Miss Sunshine

If you're going to be a sailor

2012-01-21T19:20:00.001+11:00

I know lots of things about sailing. I know there are lots of ropes, and a few sails. I've read Voyage of the Dawn Treader and seen Muppet Treasure Island so I'm pretty much an expert. It's a good thing I am because today I went sailing.

Some adventures you have to plan for, like hiking Everest or kayaking the Amazon. Some adventures you need only say yes to. This was of the latter variety. My host dad was heading out the door to go sailing and offered me the chance to come too. I was planning on an afternoon of reading and blogging, but suddenly adventure was thrust upon me. What to do!? I almost declined, but in an instant, the wise words of my dear friend Liz came. Her adventure advice is just to say yes to things. So I did.

Host Mom dropped us off at the yacht club where I met the captain and the rest of the crew. The captain looked kind of skeptical when Host Dad asked if I could tag along. He said OK, and I assured him I could follow directions. We climbed aboard the Jolly Roger with Captain Brown-with-a-little-salt-and-pepper Beard, I mean, the sailboat with Ray, and things were clipped, unclipped, and hoisted. Things get hoisted a lot on boats. Besides hoisting, there are a lot of other words to keep track of. Starboard, port, bow, stern, jibe, spinnaker, and tack are just a few.

It was a race, so we tacked (zig-zagged using the wind) out to the line and waited for the starting gun. Everyone has a job on the boat. One man steered, one stood up at the bow and managed the jib sail, etc etc. I had two very unique and important jobs. I was the monkey and the stand-er still-er. When we were sailing against the wind, I was the monkey. This means I jumped from one side of the boat to the other, always staying on the high side to balance the weight. When we were sailing with the wind, I was the stand-er still-er against the boom so it wouldn't swing about. Very important jobs, those.

Only a couple times did I think I was going to be pitched overboard. Both times I was hauling in a sail that was being exchanged for a different kind and my foot slipped, sending me sliiiiding. That was exciting. I figured the worst that could happen is I get tossed and they throw me a life ring. No worries.

There are some things you have to be careful of if you're a girl and you're sailing with a bunch of blokes.

1. No girly laughing. They probably won't invite you back to sail with them if you're giggling about how much fun you're having.

2. No using sailory terms like "swabbing the poop deck" or "walking the plank" or "scurrrrvy" anything. You are not a sailor. You are just sailing. That doesn't count.

3. No freaking out. These poor sailors have enough to do, keeping things ship shape (haha pun pun pun) without dealing with a spastic girl who's reliving Titanic.

4. Mind the boom. I don't mean mind like let it bother you. I mean mind like watch out for the boom. The boom is the horizontal bar that the sail's connected to, and it will knock you in the head without a second thought. Don't forget to duck.

5. Don't stand on or sit on ropes. I know they're everywhere, but do your best.

I like sailing, mostly when something exciting is happening. We didn't win the race, in fact, we came in dead last because of a kerfuffle in changing sails on the last lap around the buoy. [Linguistic note: in Australian, you say buoy "boy" instead of the American "booo eeey".] The ship falls and surges like they do in any great sailing story. The breeze is nice, and the salty spray comes off the bow now and then like a little mist machine.

One of the most trying not to squeal and giggle times I had was near the very end. I failed and kind of screamed because we saw dolphins! There were at least three of them jumping and splashing around the front of the boat. They'd go under and come out the other side and pop their heads up. They were beautiful in all their rubbery grey sleekness.

Maybe I'll take up sailing… but first I have to learn to tie knots and figure out what in the world "sailing, sailing over the bounding main" means.

Little Miss Sunshine, sailor, 7th class

Run Away

2012-01-20T21:30:00.000+11:00

I want to run away. I hope she's forgotten. I think of falling asleep, rendering me ineligible. The weather looks inclement. There is no way I could do it. To me, not trying is much more appealing than trying and failing. This is much too big. Impossible thing she is asking me to do. She is perfectly capable. Me? Forget it.

And. Yet.

She didn't forget, as I'd secretly wished. I didn't fall asleep, as I'd schemed. My inner conqueror is disgusted. Of course I could do it. It was only a matter of putting step in front of step, knowing and believing it was not an impossibility.

So we leave.

Needtobreathe, TobyMac and B.o.B close at hand, dear Nikes tied in double knots. There is the trailhead with the hill and the exposed tree roots. You have to watch coming down by the storage shed, the sand is an easy spot to turn an ankle. The gazebo. Trotting through the park. She says we should go to barefoot bowling sometime at the lawn bowling club. She's listening to Ben Stuart, arms swinging rhythmically back and forth. I'm listening to TobyMac, trying to forget about my legs, attempting dance hand motions without throwing off my groove.

Shrubs, trees, glimpses of beach. People with dogs, other pairs of runners, walkers. They serve as little distractions to the big task that is slowly being accomplished. She asks me for ten more minutes. I feel good, minus my feet being asleep, so I say yes. Eventually, we make it back to the house. I am alive. The insanity didn't get the best of me.

This is just physical challenge, but what of other impossible things? What of a doctorate or a book written or a garden that provides produce year round? Are they impossible the way this is? The way this is slowly being done, step in front of step? Is the obstacle to doing something with your life not inability but lack of faith?

In the biography of Hudson and Maria Taylor I'm currently reading, faith is a constant theme. Not ever advertising financial need, and thought of as crazy for doing so, Taylor wrote after being criticized for living from hand to mouth, "Yes, from God's hand to my mouth.". During even a crisis of this great faith, Taylor prayed, "Thou, Lord! Thou shalt have the burden. All the responsibility lies on thee, Lord Jesus! I surrender. The consequences rest with Thee."

He has parted the Red Sea, healed the sick, fed thousands. What more of a sign do I need to assure me that He is trustworthy? When He says Go or Stay or Get out of the boat and walk on the water, He can be trusted.

Challenged to stop running away,

Little Miss Sunshine

When Awkwardness Strikes

2012-01-20T14:32:00.001+11:00

Since my first post about awkward things,

1. more awkward things have happened to me

2. more awkward memories of my life have surfaced.

1. Unpredictable hugs

It could be your cousin's significant other, your great guyfriend from middle school, or worst, that good looking someone you met through mutual friends this summer. The time comes to say goodbye and you… well, what do you do? Whatever it is, you pray and hope it's the same thing as the other person is thinking. Side hug? Handshake? Frontal assault hug? Front hug with the bro hand clasp in the middle? If you're not on the same page, you could end up a trainwreck of arms. Goodbye, finesse, goodbye, smooth. Helloooo, awkward.

2. Saying hey to the wrong person

Being the friendly person you are, you say hello. You know that face. Half a nanosecond and you realize why you know that face. Ooops. That was the lady in the cereal aisle who helped you find the raisins. She doesn't remember you. That was the guy who always walks his Weimaraner at the same time you're walking home from church. That was the slightly crazy lady who asked you for major relationship advice while standing in line at the bank. (True story.)

3. Poor merging skills

Whether they're having a serious conversation, or a sad one, or a highly confidential one, you came in at the wrong time. It's a party, so you figure people should be talking about the Australian Open or Miley Cyrus or their dog. You bound up to a conversation and say "hey guys" with face aglow. Then it hits you. The Cone of Silence has just been lowered. You have two options. Stay and look penitent, or run and find someone who is talking about the latest episode of the newest show that doesn't matter.

4. Matchy matchy

You can't wait to debut this piece of wardrobe genius. Awesome argyle scarf, jade and gold ring, caramel knee high boots, whatever, it's lovely and you're excited. Little do you know, dear friend, that you aren't the only one who is excited. Someone else is wearing what you're wearing. You can avoid them. You can get chatty and ask them where they got it. You can say, hey nice dress - like I did when I showed up to my tenth grade piano concert in a fabulous black and white formal ONLY to find some other girl wearing the SAME DRESS. Embarrassed? Never. Embarrassment is admitting defeat, which you can never do on stage in a fabulous dress. The show went (and continues to go) on.

5. In your haste

Let's face it. Sometimes you're in a rush. You just got back from the grocery store to pick up a graduation card for your uncle's girlfriend's daughter. There's hardly time to shrug on a low key sundress, slip on some sandals and fly out the door. You arrive to the graduation party with your big happy family smile on. As soon as you catch your breath, you realize. In your haste, you've forgotten something. Deodorant, teeth brushing after garlic at lunch, a safety pin to prevent wardrobe malfunctions… whatever it is, it's not good. Here's the advice from the no middle ground girl. If you can make it hilarious, do (if it won't overshadow the uncle's girlfriend's daughter). If you can't, blow it off and see if you can find whatever you forgot in that random bathroom drawer on the left.

6. Totes awk txt msgs

You type out an angry text that you aren't planning on sending and your kid brother hits the send button. You're texting your bff about a mutual friend and accidentally put them both in the recipients list. You get a Merry Christmas text from a number you don't recognize. TEXTING CAN BE SO AWKWARD! If you have weird humor that only your dog understands, don't try to put it into a text. If you're asking someone out or breaking up with them, don't try to put it in a text. Don't just be tech savvy, be text savvy.

7. It's it's it's… can I bring it by?

You show up to class on time, ready to learn and grow and glean wisdom from the fields of education. So, what's that big binder everyone's turning in to the teacher's desk? Great question. Turn off the deer in the headlights and start sleuthing. Ask some under your breath questions to the person next to you. Yeah, it was that assignment you put off and then forgot. The teacher looks at you questioningly. You smile. Inside you're thinking, how fast can I put that together? Half an hour? Sure. You sidle up to the teacher's desk after class and tell her you don't have it, but ask if you can bring it by the office this afternoon. There are teachers that this will absolutely not work on. There are teachers who could care less and would take it at the end of the semester. For goodness sake, be sure you know the difference!

That's all for now folks, tune in next time to hear about my life's awkwardness turned into second person stories. (Yes, all of the above stories have happened to me.)

Little Miss Sunshine

The time I was almost [legally] high

2012-01-18T16:22:00.000+11:00

Caffeine is a drug. You know that, right? It's legal, of course, and most of you probably had your serving in the form of a straight black mug of joe, cinnamon spice skinny soy latte blah blah hipster blah, or Earl Grey tea, depending on your personal expression of hot drinkness.

Sunshine has been on drugs two days in a row. Of course I mean the legal kind. (Although, isn't it weird Sherlock Holmes was a druggie?) Yesterday, it came in the form of ignorance. SG and I decided we'd treat ourselves to some breakfast out, thinking that would be cheaper than lunch. We're still learning eating out in Australia is never cheap (unless you're talking fish and chips). I just wanted a plain old cup of coffee. In Australian, I should have said, yeh, I'd loik ah flat whoit thanks. Instead, I said, yes, I'd like a tall black, which the barista further corrected by saying, you mean a long black? Oops. My Australian still needs some work.

A flat white is a cup of coffee with milk, no foam. That's what I should have ordered. What I got was a mug of coffee so strong and black it could've taken the paint off that new car you got for Christmas. (Does that actually happen, or is it just on TV commercials at Christmas time??) Hoping to make it more bearable, I added two sugar packets and geared up for some kind of transformation into a muscled construction worker, an opposite beauty and the beast metamorphosis, if you will.

I made it through alright, and breakfast was delicious.

Then it happened. All of a sudden, the caffeine kicked in. Whew, baby. I wanted to run, yell, fidget, and my thoughts were as many and varied as the crowd in Times Square at New Years. There was some hyperventilation, and some funny faces. If you know me, you know that yelling, running, and funny faces are all standard Sunshine features. This legal drug just kicked all those up an Emeril Lagasse notch or twenty. I got home and bottomed up a whole water bottle to dilute some of the madness.

You would think I'd learn. Caffeine makes you crazy, anxious even. I did it all again today, except this time I made the flat white myself. We were hanging out at church doing church intern stuff and we stopped for a cuppa with Mr. Matthews (who's doing much better!). I made myself a cup of strong coffee. Who likes weak coffee, right? Right. Oops, forgot that Sunshine on caffeine is crAzy.

We left the church and parted ways as SG and I had different errands to run. I walked home through Main Street, where the market was going on. People were everywhere with their dogs, children, and various other tagalongs. My thoughts were raging crazily. Something about caffeine makes everything seem tragically heartbreaking or gloriously wonderful, of infinite importance or pitifully blasé, all of those things, just really really fast. It was just caffeine, I swear.

Thought sampling from the walk home…

There's the apple strudel man again. He has the best apple strudel, I should tell those customers that.

That's a big dog.

People people people people wow crowd.

Cricket. Need to tell SG about cricket tomorrow.

Robert the Bruce isn't just history. He connects to things.

How does Robert the Bruce connect to me being a waitress at a Mexican restaurant?

He fought for freedom, and I'm free to be a waitress?

Mmm. No, that's too much of a stretch.

Maybe it would be easier if I were an ignoramus.

I wouldn't have as much to be confused about and try to sort out.

Caffeine is a drug. I should use that as the first line of my next blog post.

I could tell them about trudging up this hill.

Trudging reminds me of drudgery.

Is it drudgery trudging up this hill?

I wonder if they're going to repaint that house to match the repainted fence.

Maybe I should take up decaf?

Love from the beach,

Little Miss Sunshine

The Man with the Fatal Flaw

2012-01-15T15:25:00.000+11:00

SG: Well, how did your Christmas break goal go?

Me: BAH. Epic fail. I didn't find a husband.

SG: Whoa. Uh, I'm not going to respond to that.

I am about to tell a story on myself. Isn't that the definition of a writer? Someone who tells stories, sometimes at the expense of themselves (or is that a comedienne?). I would refrain because I may come across in a less than sparkling light, but I'm not really one to refrain from things, unless they involve olives. I often find myself refraining from olives. If you think I should have refrained, you are free to say so, as long as you tell me why.

I didn't set a New Year's resolution, but I did make a Christmas Break resolution: find a boyfriend. You may laugh, but I was serious, sort of. I didn't exactly expect to be successful, but figured it wouldn't hurt to make one such goal. After all, I conjectured, I had two weddings, a couple holiday-ish parties and some Sundays at church.

I was skeptical of the first wedding because the bride and groom were, um, probably in the top .001% of smart people in America. Those kinds of people are not always known for their good looks and charm, but these two broke the mold. Lo and behold, the groom had a brother who was not a shame to look at. I would give him a general TDH classification (tall, dark and handsome). This could be him. He gave a superior best man speech, complete with sincere tears. There was a dance floor. I was dancing. His brother, the groom, was a good dancer, so there was a high probability that Mr. Best Man had some family talent as well. I waited and I waited and I wore my fabulous leopard dress and I smiled and you know what happened? Nothing. A big fat nothing. I surmised that he had a girlfriend. Jordy kindly suggested, in a sweet, maligning way that he probably had several.

The parties were no better. There was a slight prospect at one, but we were never introduced, so that was a flop. I know we don't live in Victorian England, but as outgoing as I am, I still own reluctances about sidling up to boys and introducing myself. The events were dwindling. The second wedding was smaller than the first, and that particular best man, though one of the most charming men I have ever met, probably would not be attracted to a girl who climbed rocks and trees.

Then I met him. *Wistful sigh.* Oh reader, let me tell you. He was a dreamboat. According to Merriam-Webster, that means he was "highly desirable or a very attractive person". We met through mutual friends at an… event. (Here's where telling stories on yourself gets tricky sticky.) He was kind and good looking and let's just say, hypothetically, if he really wanted to lift a small car, he probably could. He seemed sweet and easy going, easy to talk to, all of that.

Enter the fatal flaw. I'm not talking about a silly fatal flaw that's not really a fatal flaw like he has a crooked nose or he bites his nails or something. Fatal flaws are seeeeerious. This one isn't insurmountable, like he hates learning (a teacher's deal breaker) or he's dead. I was trying to think of insurmountable fatal flaws, but that doesn't even make sense because you can't date dead people because that's WEIRD.

The most ludicrous part of this whole thing is I don't really know him as a person. I know things about him that I like, but it's not like we sat down and talked for an hour at this...event. The other most ludicrous (I know, there should only be one superlative because that's what makes it a superlative) part of it is that I understand that, but I'm still hoping the fatal flaw will be overcome and he will sweep me off my happy feet when I get home in July. Does he know any of this? Of course not. Will I absolutely die a slow death of mortification if you tell him? Yes, reader, I will. I hope we have an understanding. You probably don't know him anyway.

I'm not too surprised this was a failed Christmas goal. That's not to say I didn't spend time with scores of fabulous, upstanding gentlemen, but none of them were crazy enough to ask me out while I was home for a month. And that's OK. I think I keep expecting to see a man in the airport or out running or walking across the church campus that has "Sunshine's Man" written across his forehead. That I'll just know, it'll be instant spark and playing catch and intellectual conversations and of course dancing. Maybe that's unrealistic? I haven't heard too many love stories that started with "he had my name emblazoned on his forehead, so I just knew". Actually, I can't think of any that started that way.

Undaunted, and as sappy of a romantic as ever,

Little Miss Sunshine

Tiger Wrestling and Tree Climbing

2012-01-14T15:18:00.002+11:00

(In light of the last post, I sound a little bipolar, but it's just two sides of the same coin.)

The only succinct name I can think of is joi de vivre but that's probably because it's French, which makes it sound fancier than "joy of life". I'm not talking about the feeling you get when you're sitting on a couch wearing flannel in front of a fireplace during a blizzard. I'm not talking about the feeling you get when you are physically lifted out of slumber by the smell of bacon and coffee. Those are both quiet niceties that make you think, Wow, isn't life great.

I'm talking about a loud nicety, to put it poorly. It's a sudden attack of wanting to shout and dance and twirl and run and laugh until your sides ache. This thing might come upon you without warning. It could be the result of seeing a stranger help a woman stow her luggage in the overhead bin. It could come from standing on top of a mountain. It could come after one bite of cantaloupe, or an hour of digging in the garden.

Fine if it strikes you while you're alone in your room. You can carry on and raise a ruckus. Fine if it strikes you in the middle of a line dance. You can kick your heels and do jazz hands and smile so hard it feels like your face is going to split. But pity the person if it comes upon them in a public place where decorum reigns.

Like a library. You know I love libraries, and I'm not opposed to keeping them quiet. That's all good and reasonable, but oh dear, if you're struck at once by this fever of gladness, and you happen to be in a library? All you want to do is go galloping through the non-fiction and hallooing through the reference section. Or an airport. All you want to do is run at top speed and kick your heels and quote great quotes with great gusto. But everyone's just walking through the terminal, rolly suitcases in hand, getting where they need to go.

The decent half of me thinks that's right and fine. Keep public spaces free of uproar. Maintain dignity and decorum. This is the half of me that likes wearing pearls. Libraries should be quiet. Women should cross their legs and men should take off their hats indoors. This is the half of me that likes tea parties. There is a time for uproarious ruckus, but it's mostly confined to sporting events and celebratory parades. This is the half of me that likes teacher cardigans.

The indecent half of me thinks that's lulling the world into a calm, dignified stupor. Dignity is for Presidents, and there's only one of them at a time. Decorum is for board meetings, but only if it's conducive to getting things done, whatever gets done in board meetings. This is the half of me that races down the pasture on a horse without a saddle. I mean, what if we slowly lost our ability to see in color because we became so sedate? There is so much to cry out and dances to dance and grassy hills to roll down. This is the half of me that climbs trees and hangs upside down from chin-up bars by my ankles.

I mean. The people who once walked in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who walked in darkness, light has dawned on them. (paraphrase from Isaiah) We have been given great and precious promises, and a hope that is an anchor for the soul. That promise has a name. His name is JESUS. He is our rescuer, our only hope, our source of life. HULLO. That's enough to make me want to twirl through an airport and wrestle tigers and sing musical theater songs from the top of a maple tree.

LOVE TO YOU,

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

(that was me hollering)

Sad in Happy Places

2012-01-14T15:15:00.000+11:00

Sometimes I get sad in happy places. Sometimes it's a sad that comes a few days before I leave a place I love. Sometimes it's a sad that comes during a wedding or conversation about love stories (which I love) because I haven't had my own yet. This is entirely inconvenient for several reasons.

1. I do not like being sad, because when I am sad, I start to like being sad. This sounds like gibberish born out of my week of little sleep, but let me explain. Being the dramatic, occasionally sentimental and idealistic person that I am, sometimes I think sad is a romantic garret on a grey and rainy day, or a desolate plain windswept and desperate in its openness. Sometimes I forget that sad is an emotional response to something, and that's ok, but you need to be sad for a suitable amount of processing time and then return to un-sad.

2. Being sad in a happy place means that you can't enjoy the happy place, and by gum, what's the point of being in a happy place if you can't enjoy it!

We are never promised that we will always be offered a detour to avoid being sad. What we are promised is we will never go alone. Sometimes I forget that. I still get tricked thinking that people who follow Jesus are handed a get out of jail free card and can rest assured that sadness or human loneliness will never be a part of life.

Even an ability to cognitively process events so they make sense and seem rational can't save us from disappointments or grief. He died because the oncogenes were triggered and the cancer took over. The car crashed because the wheels slipped on black ice. We can make sense of things, but that doesn't take away the intense emotion attached to them.

Our hope is in Jesus, and in that we rest. Sometimes it is the dreamless, sweet sleep of a newborn, and sometimes it is the desperate rest of a man who has just latched on to a floating piece of flotsam tossed in the waves of a shipwreck. The rest is no less present, just of a different nature.

When I chose the word "fight" for this year, I did so with the bravado of someone who has forgotten the difficulty of the battle. It sounds like a nice word, its intent is victory, but inherent in the word is the presence of an enemy. The victor might rise, but with maimed limbs and bloodied face. With the fight, there is a cost that accompanies the victory. Not all things can be taken along to the battle. Selfishness and pride must be laid by the way, and fierce independence must be replaced with community. The fight for joy and relationships and contentment will have none of self-centeredness.

Jesus said, "follow me". He didn't say where or through what, just "follow" and that his presence is a promise.

Little Miss Sunshine

Sell Sell Sell!

2012-01-14T15:10:00.001+11:00

My dad is a salesman. He's amiable and convincing and very good at making people want things they'd never heard of until he started talking to them. This does not make him akin to a used car salesman, who has the reputation of being greasy and unrelenting. If any of you are car salesmen, I'm sure you're not like that, just all the rest of them. Growing up in a house with a salesman bringing home the bacon meant I heard about closing deals and hard sells. This leads me to the rite of passage into the adult world known as "job interviewing".

Job interviews are like sales calls, except you're not selling a set of encyclopedias or stethoscopes, or even French collard greens. You're selling yourself. That sounds a bit cheap, like you're making a deal with the devil. You're not really, you're just trying to convince someone you have what they want and make them willing to give you a contract, salary and benefits in order to get it. Convincing someone they can't live without you means that

a.) You are fully convinced in your own mind that you can do the job better than the girl in the grey sweater dress who's interviewing after you.

b.) You aren't fully convinced you can do the job better, but you've got to sell the idea anyway or you'll forever be living on refried beans and tuna wondering why you got a college degree in the first place.

c.) You aren't fully convinced you can do the job, you tell the interviewer that, and sit crying in your car for a full 7 minutes afterwards wishing you had more false confidence.

Job interviews make me nervous. I'm the well dressed secret agent, and the woman sitting across the desk from me is an expert interrogator, looking for chinks in my armor. She could notice that I didn't do the best job taking off my nail polish from last week's wedding, or that my eyes wandered around the room nervously when I answered question 5. But maybe that's going a little far. Sometimes when I pretend I'm in the most dramatic of situations, it's easier to steel myself into unshakeable finesse.

Yesterday, I wasn't really thinking about secret agents being interrogated. It was all I could do to procure successful situations from my student teaching experience to hand over on a platter to the principal across the desk. She was nothing like an interrogator, though I've never met one personally. She was more like an elementary principal, smiley and upbeat, with a hint of I-have-about-1,000,000-things-going-on-right-now. Either she was too distracted by those 1,000,000 to notice my chinks, or they didn't bother her too much because the interview seemed to go well. She even used the c-word a couple times -CONTRACT.

Whoa. What? Me? A teacher? Of children? By myself? Oh dear. I guess there's a first time for everything. I guess the daringest dare devils didn't have the luxury of doing a trial run before they climbed Everest and kayaked the Amazon. They just packed some sandwiches, laced up their adventure boots and said, well, I don't know what they said. It was probably in a different language.

Yes, I'm learning how to sell myself. After all, I do have a degree in building blocks and differentiated instruction and Vygotsky and play dough. It's not as though I'm a professional snorkeler who's trying to be a guide across the Sahara Desert.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Going to the chapel and we're going to... watch Chris and Jenna get married!

2012-01-14T15:07:00.000+11:00

The hair was sufficiently shellacked, the jacket belt tied in a square knot that took several attempts, and the shorts under the dress in place as a wind contingency plan. We arrived at the wedding, and I promptly began hugging almost everyone in sight. Because I've had a serious case of itchyfoottravel-itis the last 8 months, I've missed two of my best friends' weddings and not seen lots of the nearest and dearest since graduation in May.

The wedding was beautiful. Like the bride and groom, there was nothing fussy about it, and according to a reliable source, it was only 22 minutes long. The groom tried to joke with his groomsmen while the bridesmaids were coming down the aisle, but promptly burst into tears when Jenna walked down the aisle.

The bride wore a strapless white satin gown with a sweetheart neckline and minimal rouching on the bodice, with about an eight foot train. It fit her silouette just right, and her personality too. The bridesmaids were in black and the groomsmen in purple vests and black tuxedos. Like a good Baptist wedding, the reception was in the fellowship hall and there was no dancing. You know how I feel about dancing, but it was for the best, as I wouldn't have been able to catch up with friends if I'd been Cupid shuffling.

Sam and Han's house was full that night. Chris and Rach, Mark, Stew, Liz and I all spent the night, which was prefaced by pizza and salad, hanging out with SG and Alex, and playing this crazy dancing game. This crazy dancing game had an "eye", whatever that means, that could read your whole body movements and whether or not you were mimicking your ghetto awesome hip-hop avatar on screen. Let's just say I got the most enthusiastic dancer award, but Han still ate my hip-hop lunch.

We were all together, but we didn’t have class the next day, there was no looming group project, and no apartment manager checking on the noise level. We were adults, and we still had fun. I was relieved. After the crazy dancing game, we needed something that required less energy, so we played Funglish. It took us probably ten minutes to guess "ear of corn" after Chris used "yellow", "round", "small", "long" and "sort of human", but it took us an hour to recover from laughing about it. Laughter is more readily at hand when you play games after 11.

The next morning we sleepily emerged from all corners of the house like burrowing animals after hibernating for the winter, and Chris, Mark and I ventured off to the store determined to find the grocery store without technological aid (in the tradition of the American pioneers). We made it back alive with breakfast ingredients. Breakfast turned into brunchy lunch by the time it was served, but that's OK. We're twenty-somethings, and they do that, I think.

That night, I had the chance to go to the Village Church Dallas campus and listen to Matt Chandler preach and worship among friends. Afterwards we made it to Starbucks after about six u-turns, and Cody, Pres, Grant and I chatted about climbing ladders, Charles Dickens and intermural sports.

It was a wonderful weekend full of stomach-aching laughter, hanging upside down on chin up bars, and just enjoying great company!

Sitting at the airport thankful for the luxury of weekend getaways,

LMS

Dallas, land of big hair and BBQ

2012-01-09T10:43:00.001+11:00

As you read in the last post, I stayed out late dancing, so the next morning I rolled out of bed, threw some clothes in my rolly suitcase and had a strong cup of coffee. Daddy gave me a ride to the airport and dropped me off at good ole Terminal 4. When I found my gate, I met a little girl with a hedgehog. Not a live hedgehog, mind you, a plush one. Not just a plush one, mind you, but a driver cover! Of course, I started talking with this little girl and her amiable grandparents who were flying to Dallas with me. They told me about how she played golf and about her cousin who started playing golf when he was 18 months old. Whether that is a slight grandparental exaggeration or not, I cannot say.

I sat next to a mother and daughter who watched a movie and got off the plane in Albuquerque. That's where the interesting people got on. They weren't interesting in the way that people you try to avoid on airplanes are. They were the sort of interesting you secretly hope will sit next to you because they seem nice and won't fall asleep on your shoulder and drool on your mom's leather jacket that you borrowed to go to Dallas. They were chatty in just the right dosage. The wife had her Kindle out, but would talk with her husband about the kitchen tools he was looking at in SkyMall and to me about how she almost cut her finger off with a submersible blender. Ouch. Oh, and they were rich. They have a house in Santa Fe and her leather travel bag was the kind of leather you know didn't come from Walmart. Oh, and there was the fur coat made of beaver and fox. But they weren't snobby rich people, just nice ones.

We landed, as planes generally do, and I power walked myself down to the baggage claim where I promptly started screaming and tackled my friends Mark and Rachel. We drove off to Mark's apartment where I tackled Marcus and got the Mark and Marc apartment tour. After that, I climbed on the back of a motorcycle with Marcus and we zoomed off for a short tour de Dallas. [Yes parents, I was wearing a helmet.] This made me want a motorcycle. Speed, adrenaline, a valid excuse to buy leather pants, what's not to like?

That night we gathered at Chris and Rachel's apt for games and dessert. Rachel beat the tar out of Rachel C and I at this crazy trains game. But that's OK, I don't mind losing in such good company. The rest of the evening involved the boys talking a lot about the difference between Indi racing and Formula One, and the future of the Dallas Mavs. It was a good lulling to sleep conversation and I almost dropped off curled up in Rach and Chris's double soft armchair.

The next morning it was off to World Market for champagne, Target for flutes, and Starbucks for a caffeinated pick me up in the form of a gingerbread latte with whip (a standard Sunshine feature). The last stop I knew, I knew, I KNEW I should have left my wallet in the car. It was REI, and even though I had just read an article about how people are more susceptible when things say "SALE", I FELL FOR IT. Oh loathing susceptibility to marketing tactics! It was a little pack, red/burgundy, hydration equipped and I could use it for day hikes or walking around Australia! I escaped with only one purchase. Whew.

Back to the house to toss things back into the suitcase that had escaped in the last 24 hours and into the car with Rach for a mini-road trip to Arkansas to see friends and go to a wedding. Right now I'm in the car with Han, Sambo, and Rach, garbed in my sale rack leopard print one shoulder dress… I don't know why people pay full price for anything, really.

More on weddings, words and waffles later,

Little Miss Sunshine

I think your tractor's sexy...

2012-01-07T05:17:00.002+11:00

There's a chance I've mentioned this before, but two things I love in life are dancing and country things. When you combine these two into a night of country western two stepping, I'm in hog heaven, whatever that means. Big and Rich or Shania are blaring from the speakers and I'm twirling as fast as my black boots will allow. Mmmm.

This week, I thought I was doing a brave thing. Two of my good friends had canceled on me at the last minute (for valid reasons) so I was driving by myself. In my Don Quixote, adventure seeking sort of way, I started wondering whether any of my other friends would be there. Going dancing by yourself would be a brave thing, right? Or stupid? I wasn't quite sure, but I kept driving and resisted the urge to pull a u-turn and stay home for the night. As is happened, there was a good group of my friends already there when I arrived. So much for that.

We danced and danced and twirled and spun and dipped. I danced with all the friends, plus a few guys I didn't know. It's difficult loving dance so much because sometimes there are guys who would be labeled "creepers" who ask you to dance. There are two problems with this scenario. The first is, I feel rude saying no to a dance. It would take a lot for me to turn down a turn on the dance floor, and I'm just not very good at saying nnnnnnn, at saying nnnnnnnn, at saying that word that is opposite of yes. Second, some of those creepers are incredible dancers. Take man in black for a minute. Total creep, just kind of an over the top flirt, etc. However, MIB is one of the best dancers on the floor. What's a girl to do?! Say yes, fly around the room in ecstasy and promptly wash her hands and utter all manner of ewwwwwww sounds in the privacy of the ladies' room? He didn't ask me to dance, so no trips to the ladies' room for me.

At this particular venue, there are several kinds of people…

1. The ballroom crowd - those who, by the shake of the hips and the point of their toes, are clearly accustomed to the likes of rhumba, waltz and fox trot, not the corn fields and smell of dairies.

2. The fun crowd - those who come to learn and have a good time because they enjoy dancing (the majority).

3. The true grits - those who came straight from the saddle and had a little cornbread and beans in the truck for dinner on the way. I danced with one such individual - cue dramatic western movie music.

I was standing in the southwest corner of the room, doing my best to communicate (HULLLLO, I want to dance). It must have worked because

There I was, not dancing at all,

When a cowboy appeared who was thin and tall.

He asked me to dance, and yes said I,

He led me to the floor and said, My name's Ty.

His hat was as black as a night in Odessa,

Pulled down so low that I had to guess, sir,

What exactly his face looked like .

Dancing with tall, dark cowboys is fine, especially when they smell good, but dancing with the friends is great because you can pause to figure out the lead in to a move or try a new stunt. Adrenaline is one of my nearest and dearest friends, so I don't mind being flipped, tossed and dipped. One of the crew particularly likes doing those things, and asked me if I'd try something. Somehow I went from a cradle hold to imitating Superman flying atop his shoulder, followed by a whirl of whooshing and landing in a dip. I promptly asked him if I could please do that every day for the rest of my life.

Other fun things come through watching the pros (usually Type 1, above), or borrowing swing dancing moves from my college days. That's how I ended up having the centrifugal force joyride of the evening, swinging down around and up, hair sweeping the floor, lungs close to screaming. It's a good place to be.

I was committed to leaving at a reasonable hour. I was. I really was. I was going to go home early, clean my room, get a full night's sleep and wake up fresh to finish packing and catch my flight to Dallas. First it was, OK, one more dance. Then I had the good fortune of telling that to my friend J and explaining that I had a flight the next morning. She asked what time my flight was. 11:35? Ha, she said, you don't need to leave. She was so right. Leave dancing or keep dancing? Is that really a question? I don't know what I was thinking. Sleep is so overrated. Dancing is so underrated. So I stayed. We shut the place down again and I was high as a kite for about 48 hours just from twirling and swirling and flying through the air.

Ahhhhh. Dancing.

Love,

LMS

Totes profesh.

2012-01-07T04:45:00.000+11:00

It was a day for the power suit. I wanted to say: take me seriously, I want a job and I'm willing to make jello worms and coffee filter butterflies. I was hoping I didn't say: I'm a recent grad and I don't know what I'm doing, but I thought a suit would hide that. Either way, the outfit was totes profesh.

[Note: I belong neither to the sophisticated group of humans who disdain all "abbreves" nor to the group who think evry1 shld use abbreves all th tme.]

Back to my attempt at fashion blogging… I went for a ponytail and tried to give it as much poof as my obstinately straight hair would allow. I borrowed Mom's white button up shirt and wore my black pants (that I also use for work at the Mexican restaurant, but salsa washes out.) My suit jacket that rarely gets used, but is so fun to wear, my black heels and a fuchsia square scarf that I tied like a tie completed the ensemble.

I did a silly thing and stayed up late working on an application for one of the schools, but I made it out the door only a minute late and tried to get my nerves out. The first school was, shall we say, academically rigorous and non-traditional? I like the rigor and non-traditional, but there was no fun mentioned. What they're doing is successful, I just don't know if I'd like that atmosphere. The second school was a charter school and seemed more traditional, with things all over the walls and frog-themed classrooms lining the halls. The principal eagerly took my resume and said she'd be in touch. I don't know if that's code for: you are one of the masses, and you don't stand a chance, but I'm a nice person so I won't crush your dreams just yet. Time will tell.

This part of being a grownup is interesting. It's like a theater audition. You have to convince the director that you were made for this part, that you can handle the pressure, and they won't be sorry they signed you on. Good thing I took theater my senior year of high school. Whew.

Whatever happens, there's always waitressing or answering phones at the zoo or becoming a pirate!

Love,

Little Miss Sunshine

The Compulsory New Year's Post

2012-01-02T15:41:00.000+11:00

New Year's Resolutions. I do make them. Call me naïve or idealistic, but I make them most years and try to live them out at least until mid-March or early April if I'm lucky. I think last year's resolution was "be a neater person". I'm not a slob, but my room does tend to become a habitat for pilus cluttericus, which reproduce until I put my foot down (usually on something prickly) and declare I've had enough. The whole room gets straightened and pilus become an extinct species.

2012. Two thousand twelve. 2x1000 + 1x10 + 2x1. What does it have in store? What should I resolve? When I think of resolutions, I think of John Wesley. The man took his resolutions seriously. To me, they're kind of a sentimental Western world annual rite of passage. I'm taking part of a tradition with hundreds of thousands of other people. It's similar to how I feel in an airport, a sort of kinship with people who have stood barefoot in security lines with me... but I digress.

I don't think this year will have a resolution, but as is the flavor of the day, I am picking a word. Last year, my word was buoyant. It's a pretty cool word to spell, and I like the word picture - not always on top, but always bouncing back. It means I don't have to be in a great mood or successful all the time, but it means nothing will keep me from living the full life.

Ready for this year's word? It came to me tonight as we were wending our way through the desert on the way back from a little ranch nestled between cottonwood and mesquite groves. Our family always spends the day with friends at their grandpa's ranch. On the way home, it came to me. This year's word is…

FIGHT.

I know, it's not a soft, dreamy-eyed word, and it's not usually associated with good things. Well, it's the word of the year, and here's why. Life's a battle. There is no neutral, no sitting on fences. I want to...

FIGHT

for

kind and honest communication in my relationships

the underdog

a healthy understanding of who I am

the Gospel to be heard

a balance between work and rest

an understanding of the world

a life full of art, music and dancing

future generations

concise, engaging writing

a life filled with the power of Jesus

fearlessness

Happy New Year,

Little Miss Sunshine

Crafternoon, attempt #1

2011-12-30T17:09:00.000+11:00

In an effort to use Pinterest and not let Pinterest use us, Cait and I got together today for a little crafternoon. I stopped by the Lobby of Hobbies on my way to pick up some canvases. Having been there before, I set my course for the canvases and looked neither to the right nor the left. A girl can get lost in that place, with paint brushes, artwork and bits and pieces of crafty heaven everywhere. It takes a sturdy soul to make it to the checkout with only what was intended.

Canvases in hand, I made my getaway and showed up to Cait's house only a few minutes late. Our first project was supposed to be drawing designs on a canvas with Elmer's glue and then spray painting white over the whole canvas after the glue dried. Unfortunately, we read the fine print on the original link that said the woman had drawn her design on wax paper with puffy paint and then glued it to the canvas and painted it. The glue came out bubbly and too runny, so we ditched that project.

Undeterred, we moved on to making t-shirt bracelets. Here's the picture we were working with…

Yeah, great, so even and smooth. Well, this is what I ended up with after about 3 times of redoing my work.

The point is, photos can make things look easier than they are. We learned from it and moved on to the next project. These rosettes were super easy and we only used fabric (ribbon in Cait's case) and a glue gun! Tie a knot in one end of the strip, then wind the fabric around the knot and twist it, gluing as you go.

Finally, we found a headband project that seemed doable in a short amount of time. I cut off five strips off of an old t-shirt, one inch wide each, and did a 5 strand braid. It's not finished yet, but hopefully soon it will look like this. Until then, it looks like this.

We had a lot of fun crafting away, and learned some valuable lessons about realistic expectations for first time projects!

LMS, who loves the smell of glue gun in the morning!

Notes from the dance floor

2011-12-30T16:41:00.001+11:00

Wednesday was just one of those great days. For one, I got to revisit the halls of nerd-dom with my high school friends. Invariably we spend more time talking about philosophy, politics and theology than what we're up to. We're all in different fields; we have businessmen, engineers, educators, scientists and computer techs. Seldom does my brain get such a well-rounded workout than when I'm having hearty conversations with my high school friends. I think people walking by at Starbucks must wonder what's happening when they walk by and hear snatches of "Hume would say…", "what Socrates was really talking about…", "we're isolating the cell that…".

From there I went straight to African Fusion dance class. I bought an AmazonLocal deal for 5 dance classes for $10. I was a happy camper. The first one I went to was ballet aerobics. The next day I had muscles sore that I didn't know existed. So we African Fusioned it up, doing the swimmer, swat, skier, squat, all to the rhythm of African drums.

Drive home, in the shower, out of the shower, into my mom's cowboy boots, down some caesar chicken salad a la mom, and off to the next bout of dancing.

[Have I ever mentioned my fiery, burning love for dancing of all sorts?]

I drove with Cait to a little venue where the country music was lilting and the boots were scooting. We met some friends there and danced the night away. The company was great, as was the music. I danced with the friends, which was so fun, and I danced with some guys I didn't know. The latter experience ranged from slightly creepy to amazing quality of leading and footwork. Here I would like to take the time to note a few things about dancing in general.

1. Ask me to dance. You're working with 97:3 ratio. For every 100 times you ask me to dance, guys, 97 of them will be a yes. If it's a no, it means I'm deathly ill, or I think you're a serial creeper. It drives me crazy when guys sit on the wall and don't dance. I WANT TO DANCE. I know you're nervous, but if I can almost guarantee your success in advance, doesn't that help?

2. How do I say "I WANT TO DANCE" without opening my mouth? I haven't exactly figured this one out. Would it behoove me to stand with my friends? Away from my friends? Hands in the pocket? Is hands on the hips intimidating? Look for someone to make eye contact with? Stare off into the distance? I think part of it is dancing with all the people you came with. If people know you aren't tied to one partner, like a husband or siamese twin, they'll probably be more likely to ask you to dance.

3. If you are not a great dancer, that's OK! Refer to #1 for reassurance. I want to dance. Period. If we just do the 1 move you know, that's OK. Stop feeling self-conscious and use that energy to focus on getting better.

4. Notes on wardrobe. Dancing requires some wardrobe forethought. If it's going to fall down, ride up, or fall off, don't wear it. Wear shoes that will stay on with spinning, dipping and flying. You'll probably sweat, so medium color tones might not be the best choice for the armpits. It's a tricky business, getting dressed for a dance. I took a risk and wore my mom's cowboy boots, which were a great stylistic choice, but ended up, eh, rubbing me the wrong way in the heel direction. (Boots are a great protective measure if you happen to be dancing with beginners who haven't learned to step where your toes aren't.) Hair is also a tricky one because no one likes getting flicked in the face with long locks. If you can keep it out of your eyes and have it down, go for it.

5. There will be awkwardness. Yes, you can have the finesse of a snow leopard, but the likelihood of awkward moments is still high as a hippie. There will be times that you get asked to dance in the middle of a song, so you're stuck with the decision of whether to take the next song or part ways with a "Thanks for that dance, it was lovely". Usually you end with that and walk back to whatever wall you were standing against nervously. There will also be times when someone dances with you for three songs. That's not a disaster because it means you're dancing.

Thanks to the crew who went for a wonderful time. I realized last night how much I enjoy my guy friends. I've missed hanging out with my college group of guy friends, so it was great to go out and have some fun last night with the hometown crew. I came home happy and sore of foot, eager to whirl around that dance floor again soon.

Much love and may your dance card always be full,

Little Miss Sunshine

This one's for the girls, for the sake of the boys

2011-12-28T06:32:00.004+11:00

This morning, on my drive to the salon to get my much needed pedicure, I was sipping coffee out of my mom's travel mug and listening to country music, as is my habit. The world through my large tortoise shell sunnies looked pretty good on this clear winter morning. When I drive, I either sing - loudly, pray - fervently, or think thoughts - scatteredly. I happened to be occupied with the last one on my 20 minute drive to foot heaven. I think it was a Casting Crowns song that got me started. The song was all about men manning up to lead and protect their families.

I don't think that's quite fair. We talk about our desire for men to be shepherds of their kids' hearts and protectors and chivalrous lovers of their wives. We talk about our desire for them to be courageous and lead with integrity, to pursue women in an honorable way. You hear songs about men needing to get it together and be the hero.

That's nice, but do you ever hear songs that go like this, "Yeahhhhh, whoaaaaaa, women, we just need to be more encouraginggggg and less domineeeeeringgggggg, learn something about suuuubmisssion..." Heavens to betsy, you'd have the sexist police all over your case. Somehow man-bashing is fine and socially acceptable, but don't you dare call women to up their game. Don't even think about mentioning submission.

AH. I just used the s word. Yes, I did. Feminists everywhere have just blacklisted me, but that's what I was thinking about this morning. It's all well and good for Columbus to say, "Hey guys, I'm going to go sail to India, see ya" but he needs a crew. It's all well and good for us to say, "Hey guys, go man up, be all you can be, lead, protect, be Prince Charming every day," but they need a crew.

There's another side to this human equation. US! Surely we have a job too? It doesn't make sense for guys to be off saving small children from burning buildings and combating corruption while we sit and chatter about all the things they aren't doing. As it turns out, this job of being awesome women comes with instructions! Who knew?! Check it out.

Then the LORD God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”... But for Adam there was not found a helper fit for him. So the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the LORD God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Then the man said,

   “This at last is bone of my bones
   and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called Woman,
   because she was taken out of Man.”

- Genesis 2:18-23

Catch that? Not just, "it is not good that the man should be alone" everyone knows that part, but "I will make him a helper fit for him." Hmmm... why do you think God would make Adam a helper? Maybe because he needed HELP? I don't mean that in a demeaning way to guys, but they need help! We are quick to pour a pot of boiling criticism over others' actions (or lack of them) instead of taking responsibility for our own.

Are you keeping the men around you from being what God has called them to be by reminding them of their failures instead of their successes or whining about their shortcomings compared to all that God calls them to be? CUT IT OUT. Yes, hold them to high standards, but hold yourself to high standards too. Don't expect them to fulfill their job if you're giving no attention to yours. How can they be the best version of themselves if you're giving them no help and in some cases, hurting the process?

And don't give me that feminist trash-ola about women being equal in leadership skills, deserving of kudos, just as capable and intelligent blah blah blah. My best friend is a mechanical engineer. I know women are smart and capable. So be smart and capable and help a brother out. Use that finesse and acute instinct to uplift, encourage and empower. Stop tromping all over men in your talented dainty champagne stilettos. Watch the power of your words when you point out things they're good at. Let them know you trust them. Submission isn't a state of inaction and limp noodleness. It's just a requirement if you're ever going to dance with someone successfully.

Love to my girls and hope to my boys,

Little Miss Sunshine

P.S. As an addendum, courtesy of my friend, Caitlin, here's more food for thought on the limits of submission, worth your time - http://www.worldviewchurch.org/worldview-challenge/1078-women-stop-submitting-to-men

Hi, my name is Sunshine, and I love Pinterest

2011-12-27T16:53:00.000+11:00

Remember Confession 36? Yeah, temperance is not my natural bent. I'm either all or nothing. Give me cherry juice stronger than steel, or give me none. Let me read 3 books in a week, or none at all. Fire or ice. You get the picture. So. Pinterest. It's this website that everyone's talking about (don't feel bad if you aren't talking about it, that's just a sweeping generalization).

The premise is it's an e-bulletin board where you can pin your interests. There are a variety of things people use it for, but primarily it's design, food, fashion and crafts. You can pin pictures from anywhere online or you can re-pin pictures from other people's boards. My brother's girlfriend helped me set up my own account, so the official blame goes to her, but the unofficial blame goes to me.

What you have is a whole website full of ideas and beautiful dazzling photos. Hello. I love ideas and dazzling photos and crafts and cooking and design. What was I thinking?! Of course, it's a great site, and you can find some pretty sweet ideas and recipes. But mix that with my lack of temperance... Now I want to spend time looking through ways to french braid your hair and make Christmas wreaths and fold envelopes for snail mail letters.

The problem with browsing through recipes for peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and light fixtures made out of paper mache is that is it's easy to look at those things and not DO them. What's the point of looking at creative things people have done if you aren't going to do them yourself? It becomes this chasing of the wind - always looking for the next cool thing and great idea without making use of them. A huge apple tree that never makes any apples. Waste of time.

I think I could be a crafter, I really do! My heritage isn't bereft of crafters, and I'm cheap enough that making something myself is appealing. Redo coffee cans with doilies and spray paint as vases? Probably cheaper than buying them. Decorating that envelope to send to a friend by snail mail? Worth the time. So my challenge to myself is not to ditch Pinterest in an effort to curb my internet use. That would just be a part of my all or nothing tendencies. Instead, my challenge is to master things instead of letting them master me. I should be making things improve me instead of wasting my life misusing them. Facebook - great social tool, not a good way to fill time. Pinterest - full of creative ideas and inspiration, not a place to be for more than 30 minutes.

Do I feel a New Year's resolution coming on? Perhaps. More about that later...

In other news, got to hang out with the cousins tonight! I love to laugh with them. Also, pedicure tomorrow. Mmmm. After a summer and four months in Chacos and being at the beach, a pedicure is going to be a great thing.

Much love,

LMS

Hurrah for December 26 and April 14 and September 2!

2011-12-26T10:03:00.000+11:00

Over on my right is our living room fireplace. The idea of having a fireplace in Arizona is a little silly, but it's there and that's where Mom hung all our Christmas cards this year. They say things like "Joy, Peace, Love"; "Celebrating Faith, Family, Friends" and "Joy to the World". I would say those are things that we shouldn't tie down to one day. What if we did that to other things?

Well, tomatoes are really great, but let's only eat them one day of the year.

I love being married to you, so let's make our marriage super special and only go on dates one day out of

365.

My job is meaningful and gives me a chance to change the world, but I only work 1 day a year so it doesn't

get old.

That's a lot of crap and you know it. I realize that for the sake of Hallmark, we have to organize our holidays around calendar days. You can't sell cards for Valentines Day if you don't squish your celebration of love into a day. Well, retail world, that's fine. You make your cute Christmas wreaths and nasty chalk Valentines candy and Easter peeps. But you've sorely underestimated me if you think I'm going to be able to stuff all of my Christmas excitement into one little day, or even a month-long season.

Those big things on the Christmas cards - faith, family, friends, joy, peace, love - they exist because of a truth. The baby born in a manger was the savior that made "God and sinner, reconciled" possible. That baby wasn't born so we could have a nice looking manger scene or so people could write songs about cows and angels. Christmas happened to make Easter possible. Thirty some years later, that baby traded the splinters of a cow trough for the splinters of a cross. That "God and sinner, reconciled" thing? That means that there's hope for the mess we made. It means that Christmas and Easter are inseparable and their importance is paramount.

The scale of that hope is a reason to celebrate on December 25... and Easter, and January 5, and April 10, and whatever other day you happen to be alive. That churchy word - gospel, or "good news" is talking about what happened at Christmas and Easter and the years in between. The good news is that Jesus came, lived, died, and came to life again. He kicked sin and death in the face and gave us a way to have a relationship with God again.

I think singing "Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant" and "Christ the Lord is risen today aaaaaaalleluia" are things we should be singing, humming, whistling, and celebrating whether it's 4:15 on a Monday in June or 7:00 on Christmas morning. Give gifts! Get together! Make fudge! Christmas is too good to be confined.

Celebrating Christmas today and every day,

Little Miss Sunshine

Merry Stressmas!

2011-12-24T15:43:00.000+11:00

Christmas should be all kinds of things. It should be merry and bright. It should be full of decking halls and silver bells and sleigh rides. The other day, however, it was full of being mad. I just wanted to buy the right present. I wanted something that would say I love you and I value you and if you asked me to dig a ditch to China, I would, just for you. Unfortunately, there aren't presents that come with that on the tag.

Mostly, the problem was I forgot my shopping mantra... "I will be decisive, I will be successful". So there I was, wandering around Target, searching for that perfect something that would accomplish Christmas magic. I wavered, I vacillated, I failed. Thankfully, I ran into my mother and she told me to just go home and try again the next day. So I quit and went home, leaving the battlefield for another day. I was mad. I wanted the right present! I wanted it to say the right thing! I wanted to be done Christmas shopping in October like a good, organized firstborn.

Today was a different story. I came equipped with my secret weapon. Forget Woad Raiders (yes, Age of Empires reference), I had a Goad Raider, who happened to be my dad. Dad doesn't adhere to the shopping mantra verbally because it's so internalized. Decisive, successful - the goad for any girl with shopping troubles.

My Goad Raider and I arrived at the mall after a great lunch at a little BBQ dive. Cars snaked sluggishly into the mall in long lines. We lamented everyone else's belated shopping excursions, knowing that we were the ones to blame. People were rushing here and there, picking up last minute presents.

Let me tell you, this battle was over almost before it began. {Sidenote: I just saw a commercial for Wendy's double cheeseburger... gross.} I was making good decisions all over the place. I was on fire. Why can't every shopping excursion be like that?

One thing I've noticed about Christmas as I've gotten older is Christmas can be the most stressful time of the year. Families are trying to coordinate and share time together, and we know families aren't perfect. Aunt Rita's taste in Christmas sweaters is a little... gaudy, and your cousin Antoine hasn't developed a sense for when jokes are OVER. So yeah, that's stressful. Then there's the budget. We know finances can be one of the biggest stressors in life, and Christmas can be expensive. You have people in your life that you want to buy the moon for, and people in your life that you are obligated to at least buy a moon rock for. Chocolate bark buying and ham buying and that new wreath for the living room can quickly get out of hand.

Suddenly, Christmas goes from holly jolly to as much fun as a paper cut. Don't be that guy or girl. Don't you let that happen to you! There is too much light, too much hope, too much magic to enjoy. Believe me, you don't have time to get stressed about whether to put pecans in the cranberry salad. Uncle Herb's allergic to nuts, remember? Leave them out. And trying to squeeze in that last Christmas party? Skip it. Catch up with those people in April, when you can sit on the patio and enjoy each other's company over a strawberry mint iced tea. Don't bust the budget. Write a letter that says you love them and would dig that ditch to China. Keep Christmas merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white.

Much love,

LMS

Confession 45

2011-12-22T07:57:00.000+11:00

Confession #45. I am terrified of not reaching my potential. What if, at the end of my life, instead of "Well done, good and faithful servant" I hear "Eh, not bad, sort of faithful servant"?! Setting aside the fact that that particular passage is from a parable and not Jesus telling us exactly what the end of our earthly lives will be like, it makes you think about what the heck you're doing.

The idea is that God has given us each different amounts of things to manage. Some of us have marketing skills or juggling skills or crepe making skills. Others have an eye for architecture or an ear for languages. What is Jesus going to find when He comes back for the annual business meeting, if you will?

It's not like He's looking for gains in the conventional sense. He doesn't care about profit on Wall Street. He cares about whether my heart is kind, my spirit sensitive, and my mind sharp. Am I lighting the world and mending the things that are broken? I can't even do it on my own strength. He just wants me to use the tools He's given to do the work He's provided.

And yet. That's a little scary. It's not confined to a checklist. There's no rubric. I can't just use TurnItIn online or hit a "submit" button. This is an assignment that doesn't finish. I can't feed someone, clothe someone, and give someone clean water and log my hours for credit. He doesn't want a certain number of nice things in each category. He demands all. All leaves no room for excuses or exceptions.

What if I have what it takes to become a great teacher? To impact my students in a way they never forget? To teach them that character matters, that life has hope, that math and reading are a magical way to understand the world? But I know myself. Sometimes I take shortcuts and give less than excellence. Sometimes I forget that cutting out paper flowers for leis for students is meaningful for their learning experience and thus a profitable use of my time.

Should I be writing unit lesson plans now? Memorizing the national curriculum standards and reading the latest research on reading instruction? That's just my future teaching life. What about the other part of my world? The possibilities for change are exhaustingly endless.

Yesterday, our conversation turned to Amy Carmichael, a young woman who gave her life for the orphans of India. What are my pitiful contributions of living in a cozy house ten minutes from a beach in Australia or trekking around Morocco helping teachers for two weeks when she gave up everything and stayed her whole life, without family except those she met along the way?

It goes back to the everything principle. There can be no holding back, no resisting, no reservations. It's not how much can I spare for Jesus, but how can I leave anything untouched by His fullness of life? And when there is failure and the occasional corner cutting, there is grace. There is "no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus". There is "the life I now live I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me".

Thankful for a Savior and a stable,

Little Miss Sunshine

I just can't be bothered

2011-12-21T11:54:00.000+11:00

It's a phrase I love from Australia. I think we should import it. "I can't be bothered." It carries with it a sort of imperial toss of the head and an idea that something isn't worth your time. Usually you hear it in the context of homework or menial tasks, "I just can't be bothered with running that errand right now."

Well, you know what? I can't be bothered with being discontent right now. Today I was talking with two dear friends who were lamenting the languishing damsels in distress until their Prince Charming shows up. They were frustrated that anyone, though well meaning, would waste their lives like that.

Over and over, I am reminded of the power of this phase of life. I have so much time to use for whatever I please! There are no diapers to change, no meals to plan, no bills to pay. What am I doing with all this time?! Wishing I was somewhere else in life? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Are you kidding me, Miss Sunshine?

No, I'm not joining a convent, and yes, I still don't love being single, but there's a difference between waiting and being idle. As if the kingdom of heaven revolves around me being happy. How many thousands of reasons are there to do something besides seeking my own success? Back in Jr. High, in my Bible drill days, we memorized a verse in Proverbs. I can always remember the second half - "He will give you the desires of your heart", but never the first. Maybe that says something about the priorities of my heart, but the first part is "Delight yourself in the LORD". Not a suggestion, not good advice, it's an imperative.

It sounds like a strange command. There's not the usual flavor of Old Testament living within the law. When's the last time you thought about God saying "Enjoy knowing Me". Don't even think about substituting the word "fun" in there. No way. Surely God isn't serious. It has to be a cosmic practical joke. Maybe the Hebrew says "Delight in following 7,000 commands of the LORD and don't you dare mess up or you shall be struck by lightening"? Nope, it's a real verse, in the real Bible. God commands us to find joy in Him, and we know He wouldn't command us to do something we couldn't do.

Don't forget the second half of the verse, the almost-too-good-to-be-true part. "And He will give you the desires of your heart". Sounds like a promise to me. The more you delight yourself in Him, the more the desires of your heart will line up with the true and good things God loves to lavish on His kids. This isn't prosperity gospel crap-o-la rubbish promising scarlet sports cars and a Christmas bonus if you enjoy God's presence. This is the real deal, the good stuff, the joi-de-vivre that money can't buy.

Not to be bothered with small unpleasantnesses when greater things are at stake,

Little Miss Sunshine

Christmas Bait and Switch

2011-12-19T06:55:00.000+11:00

I fall for it all the time. 'Tis the season of "Every kiss begins with Kay" and the Coca Cola polar bears. Things are glittering and sparkly. The air is full of magic, romance and music. People ask me what I want for Christmas and all of a sudden I'm lulled into a sweet, dreamy stupor. Sugar plum fairies and navy pea coats are dancing in my head, along with things like these...

Mmmm. They whisper sultry sweet nothings in my ear.

HOLD IT. Hold it RIIIIIIIIGHT there. Good try, trendy cool stuff. Good try. You say you're important, that you bring hope of a better wardrobe, peace in attempts to climb the social status ladder, and light shining down from heaven and reflecting off those fabulous bronzy sequins.

I have a funny feeling those angels in the fields weren't talking about Tom's and Matt Wertz when they were talking about "good tidings of great joy". I think they were talking more about the Light of the World making a crash landing into the darkness of a Christmas night in Bethlehem to change the way we live and love. All that glittery stuff and the ads that sell it would have you believe that if you buy, consume, follow these things, you will be fulfilled. You will be beautiful and loved and successful. They march with billboards flying, leaving in their wake a people who are unfulfilled, spiritually impoverished and looking for the beauty they were promised. It's a bait and switch. Instead of fulfilling you, they leave you empty.

Their intent is not to make you empty. That's just part of the result. The distraction is integral to the deception. If you're out chasing the latest and greatest, you'll be too busy to think, to reason, to change the world. The iPad 4 is a sufficient substitute for courage and discipline. The newest Gibson guitar will make up for perseverance and self-sacrifice. If you'll only settle for devouring and consuming, you'll never be a threat by fulfilling your calling to create, be light, speak truth and make disciples.

May your days be merry and bright,

Little Miss Sunshine

The Beginning of the End

2011-12-18T10:44:00.000+11:00

The events leading up to the end of Australian Adventure Part 1 are not extraordinary, just noteworthy.

First, there was packing. We avoided it like the plague. It was messy, confusing, and there's never quite enough space. Things we found to do while avoiding packing included chatting on Facebook, oven roasting chickpeas, looking through pictures from Pastor John from the last 4 months… stop the presses. This is more important than whatever I was saying.

I'm sitting here in the airport trying to tell you about the things I did to get here, and there's a family to my left with a kid with dreads. Repeat: kid with dreads. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a first for Little Miss Sunshine. I have seen dreads as a conscious choice or unconscious consequence of twenty somethings, but never have I ever seen them on a kid. There's a chance that it could have just happened, and Sparky Jr. just wouldn't hold still long enough for a haircut, or that Mom was too busy chasing kids 1, 2 and 4 to bother with a haircut for poor middle child #3. And they're in the airport - the whole family, and Dad is lugging his own weight in carry on bags. Merry Christmas in the airport.

So we finally stopped avoiding packing long enough to pack. I managed with two checked bags and a book bag. Then there was tea. Remember, tea is what Australians call dinner. Joan was out with tennis club Christmas festivities, so it was Ian and us fending for ourselves. We sat down to an old Aussie/Brit classic - meat and three veg. That means we had corned beef heated up in the microwave and steamed peas/potatoes/carrots.

Ian took us down to the church to drop off the things we're leaving here at the church. He's a sweet man. Then he showed us around the factory he's been renovating. Yeah, don't forget he's 74. I'm not talking renovating like supervising, I'm talking renovating like painting and doing tile. He dropped us off at the beach to walk home the pretty way.

We had visions, not of fairy plums, but of a nice sunset walk on the beach for our last night in Oz for a few weeks. That was alright the first few minutes, before the rocks. There was a rocky stretch of beach between us and home, so we tried to pick our way over and around and through without slicing our bare feet open. This led us to climbing a bluff, climbing a fence, and hoofing our way back to the house in the dark.

After that there was a drop in to an 18th birthday party, and the discovery of the absence of my camera. That was a problem. I was leaving the hemisphere and my camera was missing. The next morning I hit the snooze on my 5AM alarm and was slipping on my boots at 5:30. Sometimes I think I do as much running out of running clothes as I do in them. Anyway, off I went down the hill in search of the camera. It was precisely where I figured it would be. There was only one place I could remember being less than vertical, and that was when I was climbing the fence. The camera was sitting there in the grass, right where it had slipped out of my jacket pocket. Recon mission accomplished, back to the house.

From there, Pastor John picked us up and dropped us off at the airport. Checked in, made it through customs, and parked ourselves on an airport bench, got on a plane, and made it hoooooome!

Love from HOME,

LMS

Spilling Things

2011-12-11T22:03:00.000+11:00

I'm afraid I'm making a mess again, dripping everywhere. Sorry. It's like a combo deal of "my heart is overflowing with a good theme", "measure for measure it shall be given to you, pressed down, shaken together, overflowing", and "you anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows".

Ps. 45; Luke 6; Ps. 23)

Things my heart is overflowing and spilling all over with…

1. Our last Sunday at church until we come back after Christmas. So many kisses, we'll miss yous, and we're praying for yous. These people are incredible. They already have so much of my heart and we've only been here 4 months.

2. Messy Church Christmas - our family/community Christmas extravaganza with crafts, music, story and dinner. So many of our church family came to help and brought food for the dinner. I got to talk with one of the moms about the Sunday family worship and she sounded interested, AND they have a huge garden, AND they don't live far from us.

3. People at work. Sure, sometimes the people I work with can be annoying, but for the most part, they're great. The cook's comment tonight - Wow, since you don't drink, you must feel great all the time. You're never hung over. And my conversation with Lachy in the bar. He said he thought I'd make a really good teacher. No matter how much I want to be a teacher, sometimes I doubt my ability to ever be a good one. It's affirming to hear that I'm not the only one who thinks being a teacher is a good idea.

4. Presents. A blue planner and HANDKERCHIEF from Margaret. I've never had a hankie before and everyone uses them here… well, older people. A pink and white pearl cuff from Ilma, who'll be 94 in Feb. She's a fireball. Christmas cards wishing us safe travels and quick returns. It's like they love us or something. I wish I could bottle it up and save it for later, as it's spilling all over the carpet and bedspread in its current state.

5. Beautiful summer nights. Cicadas are chirping, the aggies are blooming, and occasionally you catch a whiff of summery watermelon smells on the breeze.

6. A God who never fails. With all this planning and running around, you can lose sight of the forest for the trees. Even among the checklists and coordinating, God is working.

7. Thoughts of home. In four days, plus a few confusing time zone changes, I'll be home. It will be cold, like it's supposed to be at Christmas, and there will be lights and fudge and tacos.

There, I tried to sop up all the overflowing and pour it into a post for you.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Living Two Moments at a Time

2011-12-10T21:41:00.000+11:00

It's too much. I don't think our coronary arteries could withstand looking at more than one day. There would be too much. Too many babies giggling, too many disappointed dreams, too many heartbreakingly beautiful sunsets. Any more than experiencing one moment at a time, and I think the stuff life's made of would do us in.

Oh, we try hard enough. We have planners and video cameras and things that help us capture the past and plan the future. Those can be useful tools for living, but sometimes, we get too caught up with trying to double up on life. Henry lives a moment at a time? Pfft, I'm going to live two moments at a time. I'm going to plan, worry, and prepare so perfectly that I'll really be living in two moments at once.

Balderdash. You can't do it.

I have moments when the stuff life's made of is almost too much, even moment by moment. It's as though the beauty of a Texas plains thunderstorm or the sound of a Beethoven concerto or the feeling of a deep sadness will split every cell I own. It's like I can't laugh hard enough or sing loud enough or be still long enough to satisfy the moment. I wonder what God feels like as He stands outside of time, seeing the tangled, bloody, beautiful mess of history and knowing the thoughts of every man at every moment.

He was there when the first jasmine bloomed. He understood Henry VIII's motives. He grieved for Pearl Harbor and for Nagasaki. He cheered for a girl as she laid a baby in a manger because there was no room for him in the inn. He laughed as the shepherds shook in their boots listening to the angel's instructions. He carefully calculated the timing of the Kings and the Christmas trio's escape to Egypt. He was there when your dog died. He'll be there when we have been forgotten.

He is forever. He is infinitely strong. He is Emmanuel, God with us.

Christmas is coming,

LMS

Playing Dress Up

2011-12-09T20:35:00.000+11:00

Pink lacy parasols

Ruby red slippers that don't fit

A hat from the thrift store.

It's a bit crunched.

Strings of fake pearls,

Clip on diamond earrings

Laughing loudly,

Smiling cheaply,

Making conversation out of

Gossip and hearsay.

Here I am again,

Playing dress up.

You ask me why I

Don't wear the real diamonds

You bought me,

Or the pin

With the sapphire.

Suddenly my pearls look dull

The shoes, ill fitting,

And I see what you see.

A princess playing dress up

In the closet of a whore.

Christmas is full of poppycock

2011-12-09T20:33:00.000+11:00

It is. Whether you know it or not, Christmas is full of poppycock. Angels are the first item on the list that come to mind. What got me all riled up about this was watching the kids at playgroup have their dress rehearsal Christmas pageant. They were dressed to the nines, kings with purple robes and gifts, shepherds, angels with halos. Yes, angels with halos.

When you think angel, you probably picture pudgy cherubs with harps and halos or beautiful blonde women with white robes. Hello. Have you read anything about angels? First of all, the angels we have names of are Michael and Gabriel, not Michaela and Gabrielle. All recorded angels in the Bible are male. I'm not ruling out the possibility of the existence of girl angels, there's just not textual evidence for it.

From what I can tell, they're a bit more fierce than your run of the mill cherub. They shut the mouths of lions, deliver messages, keep watch over people and will fight against the devil at the end of time. I know, I know, girly angels are pretty and gentle and nice. But who would you rather have your back, some girly glowy angel named Celeste or Angelique, or a rock of a sword-bearing angel named Michael? Yeah, thought so.

Another bit of poppycock is the notion that there were three kings. Ok, where does it say there were three kings? I'll save you the time. It doesn't. There were three gifts. Shoot, there could have been twenty of them, all hauling that gold, frankincense and myrrh from the East. I guess for the sake of retail they had to agree on a number, but don't let them fool you into thinking that's a hard and fast Christmas truth.

Can we talk about Mary for a second? How do we know she was Mary meek and mild? How do we know she wasn't more mighty and magnificent? All these Christmas pictures in kid books and Renaissance art make her seem sober, retiring, placid. They also make her white, which is dumb. Maybe she was feisty and fearless and terrified to be carrying a kid but trusting God to give her strength. Can you imagine the fight she and Joseph must have had when he found out she was pregnant? You'll notice in Matthew 1, there's a small time gap between the time that Joseph finds out and when the angel visits him and tells him the craziest story ever.

Now, about these gifts. They weren't Tonka trucks or Baby Einstein DVDs. For Jesus' first Christmas, which happened to be his birthday… which is why we have Christmas in the first place, he got gold and burial spices. Woohoo. Wait. WHAT?! Hold the phone. These kings come all the way from the East, following this star, trudging through sand and camel poo, and they bring gold and burial spices? Cultural difference or prophecy? Mmmmm.

On an Australian note, let's cover the topic of Christmas pudding. This is an ingredient to every traditional British holiday feast, which means it got dragged along to Australia. Americans, Christmas pudding is not what we would call pudding! It's much more along the lines of fruit cake minus gross candied fruit and plus moisture. They serve it in a bowl with whipped cream and hot custard. SO GOOD.

I'm done being a cynic about Christmas.

You may return to decking your halls and walls,

LMS

Packing for parts (not) unknown

2011-12-09T19:17:00.002+11:00

The trial has come. I knew it would, but it seemed so far away in August and September, and even October. But now it's December, and it must be done. I have to start packing. You know how I hate packing. I love traveling, but packing is the waiting before the oven until you can taste the cookies. It's tedious, and you have to mind the details, or you'll end up in India without your underwear or Chile without your hiking sandals!

I'm being a trooper, though. Home is my motivation. I can't go home unless I pack. None of Mom's tacos unless I pack. No trouncing or being trounced in card games unless I pack. I'm taking home my Christmas lights. I packed them because I figured I would need them. Somehow, I've managed without getting them out of the box. Fancy that! I'm also bringing home some of my books. Who knew they had libraries in Australia? Sandwiched between hoodies and my red pea coat, I also have some secrets. Some of them are Christmas secrets, but some are just ordinary sparkly secrets.

There are plenty of things to do while you're being distracted from packing. Yesterday when I was trying to pack, I ended up working on a logic puzzle instead. There are packing play lists to be made, laundry to be folded, all kinds of interesting opportunities crop up when you're supposed to be packing. Normally I would go the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire route and phone a friend, but as SG and I are sharing the phone and the bill, that's not much of an option. Usually, I end up sitting on my bed, absent mindedly reading through my packing list while listening to the most recent escapades of my nearest and dearest.

Part of packing is deciding the future. I have to decide whether I'll have an occasion to wear my beige peep toe heels or my cowboy boots or my puffy vest. How much room do I need for Christmas presents? Will I be getting books, which don't take much room but can be heavy, or will I be getting gift cards, which are only as light as the things you buy? Will it be a warm Christmas? Last year I was sunning in my bathers in the backyard on Christmas Eve, but yesterday Mom said it was 23F when she woke up. Who's to say?

Eventually the ordeal will be over and I will be happily sleeping a drugged sleep aboard a big Australian airplane flying over many bathtubs of water. Until then, I'll be fighting my all or nothing tendencies which would have me packing either a backpack or two suitcases and two carryons.

Yours truly,

Little Miss Sunshine

and then I found $10

2011-12-07T22:09:00.000+11:00

Really. I did, but I'll get to that part in a minute. First there was lounging and reading about Martin Luther and the big, bad wolf and... maybe I should start at the beginning.

Tuesdays are our days off. While we love the things we are working hard at, we also love days off.

I awoke at approximately 7:07, but did not make myself leave my bed until approximately 7:41. Normal things happened like breakfast and then it was back to bed for some 1 John and Martin Luther biography (very interesting and biographies look good on resumes). Not much happened between 8 and 11, except maybe I cleaned my room.

At 11, our friend Zoe picked us up and took us back to her house for a barbie (American - BBQ) with our other friend, Lisa. I use these terms loosely, as they would be closer to the "friendly acquaintances" category. They have small children who happen to be cute and funny. Two of these cute and funny children are girls who like to play little pigs and big bad wolf in the playhouse. We took turns. You should see my big bad wolf impression.

Lisa dropped us off at the library, and we did some errands around town before hiking up the hill towards home sweet home. We were ambling and rambling, minding our own dear business when all of a sudden, WHAT HO! A ten dollar note was lying right in our path. It could have not been more obviously in the center of the sidewalk. (Aussie - footpath) A short trial was held on the ethics of the situation, and the area was inspected for a poor person dispossessed of said note. Upon finding no one, the vote was unanimous, and the note was collected into the coffers of the author and SG.

We were ecstatic. When's the last time you found ten dollars and circumstances under which you felt it ok to keep it? Yeah. Exactly. At the top of the hill, we met Kate and Nat for a Skype date, donned our bathers (American - swimsuits) and packed our bags. The day could not have been more beautiful.

After dutifully slathering each other with sunscreen, we galloped screaming into the water, bent on having a swim. It was delicious, and we returned to our towels to dry in the sun like grapes in Mexico before they become raisins (Aussie - sultanas). A couple of hours set us right and we walked downtown in search of chicken salt, which was supposedly a common additive to chips (American - steak fries). We found what we were looking for, burned our tongues on hot chips bought with three of our ten found dollars, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Today was a beaut (American - beauty) of a day too, as we ended up at the beach with Chez and some of the crew. ANDANDAND. Prepare yourself.

We found.

A STARFISH!

I was beside myself with glee. I held it. A starfish. In my hand.

It was just there, swimming in the great ocean, well, not really swimming, more just sitting.

Much love to you,

LMS

A Grief Experienced

2011-12-05T23:11:00.002+11:00

I don’t like being sad. It puts me in a bad mood and feels like a deep gray purple. Tonight on my walk home from work, the sun was setting and the breeze was just the right wind speed. Despite the beautiful night, I grieved. I grieved for the innocence lost this past week at "schoolies" (the post-graduation bingeing insanity that happens because the drinking age is 18). One of the kids at work said his friend spent hundreds at the strippers place in one night. I wanted to throw up.

I grieved for the children who will never feel the comfort of their mother's arms or the taste of ice cream or the feeling of being breathless after a game of backyard tag because their lives were ended as soon as they began. Last week in the news, a mother with twins was counseled to abort one of them after the doctors found serious handicaps. She chose to, only for the doctors to make a mistake and kill the healthy twin. Two lives lost because killing babies is legal.

I grieved for our host family, who lost their daughter two years ago to a rare disease and liver transplant failure. She was a wonderful, lively, adventurous wife, mother and daughter. What can assuage a parent's grief and the hardest pain they can endure? The life that they loved, they have lost. What remains is a hole filled with memories.

In this walk home, while I was almost overwhelmed with the brokenness of the world we live in, a whisper came. It said that our hearts can never be grieved more deeply than the heart of God. As sad, hurt and angry as we can feel, he feels more because he understands what should have been. He was there when he pronounced things "very good". He created the good and beautiful. He mourns the loss of innocence because he understands best of all what innocence is. He mourns the loss of life and relationship because he is the creator of life and relationships.

It is good to grieve these things. They are a reminder that the world is in desperate need of the Jesus born in a manger and killed on a cross.

LMS

10, 9, 8, 7...

2011-12-05T23:10:00.002+11:00

Today was 10. Ten days until I'm back home. In ten days, our pastor, John, will drive us to the airport, we'll down one of those blue sleeping pills and wake up in the US of A. SG and I have made a paper chain with a link for each day until we're home. The only trouble is we put so much time and color into it, we couldn’t bring ourselves to tear off the links.

We're counting down in other ways. Only three more days at playgroup, one more Bible study, more Sunday at church with Ian and Ilma and George. As one of several last hurrahs, we're going to get chips tomorrow. I know, they're only steak fries, but we've been commissioned to try the mysterious Australian invention known as chicken salt. Maybe they're pulling our legs, but we think it's real, and supposedly it goes on chips.

Let me tell you, I love being in Australia. Waking up every morning and tip toeing downstairs and across the wooden floors to dish up some potatoes and onions or berry yogurt or whatever I'm having for breakfast is great. Playing with three year olds is great. Being a ten minute walk from the beach is great. But there is no way my love for Australia is going to diminish my excitement for coming HOME.

Home means mom's tacos, listening to SportsCenter twice in a morning, playing board games, going to the theater, brother snuggles, Zanna and Princess Punkin time, time at the church I love so much. I can't wait to be back in the desert. Sunsets over the ocean are pretty breathtaking, but I miss my desert explosions of gold and pink over the mountains.

I know the month home is going to fly by, with a side trip to Texas/Arkansas to see a couple friends, and catching up with people. I don't know what I can do to throw salt on it, that is, preserve it. Maybe sleep less and try not to read any books? I love reading, but reading can be done on planes and in Australias. Maybe stare at my family while I'm eating instead of looking at my plate. I want to soak up their faces, but I guess that would be a little creepy. Maybe I'll just stick to Liz's advice - just say yes. Yes to bowling, yes to lunch dates, yes to sand volleyball, yes to the movies. I might have to adopt a carefully calculated yes budget, but it can be done (that's why they made dollar theaters).

Xoxo

Little Miss Sunshine

Pre-quarter life crisis strikes again

2011-12-05T23:09:00.000+11:00

I was going to say, guys, being 22 is harder than it looks, but then I felt a little ridiculous. No, I don't have a mortgage or five kids, or even a dog, but at least you're past the part of life where you had to make decisions about buying the house, having the kids or adopting the puppy. It's just work now. The decision is done, the commitment is made. I find I like my life better when the decision making is done. Sure, there's a certain thrill and element of intrigue added to your life when you're balancing a giant question mark on your head, but giant question marks get heavy.

Right now, I feel like I'm balancing ten question marks, one on top of the other. I'm not even sure if I'm supposed to have any of them on my head, which just adds an eleventh question. What do I need to have figured out right now? Should I continue taking grad school classes? Should I try to get certified for additional areas of teaching like 5th grade or gifted/talented? What kind of work makes me feel alive? How big of a factor should my personal desires be in the decisions I make? Should I just pack up my stuff and head to Africa to fulfill a corner of "go and make disciples"?

So. Many. Questions.

I want to do the right thing, but what's the right thing? A great thing about living in America, having a college degree and being a Sunshine is you have heaps of options. (Being a Sunshine just means you aren't too geographically limited and for some reason you believed your parents when they told you that you could be anything you wanted.) I could be an event coordinator, a children's minister, a teacher, a camp administrator, a waitress, a missionary… the list goes on with many variations.

In all those situations I could live out God's good news by loving him, loving people, and using my life as a Jesus sign post. Does it really matter what I choose to be? Would it be a waste to not use my college degree in the way it was intended? Would it be unwise to keep traveling and doing short term "fun" jobs because I eventually want to stay put somewhere and that has to start some time? Or should I travel and do "fun" jobs while I can?

This seems to me like an approach/approach conflict. (Thank you, Dr. W for making me pay attention in General Psychology.) All that means is you have to make a decision between two good things. Do I want brownies or do I want ice cream? Do I want a climbing Don Juan rose, or a star jasmine vine? Gouda or brie? Hereford or Jersey? Granny Smith or Pink Lady? You get the point.

I'm thinking tri-focals might be a good idea - a vision for the present, a vision for the near future (5-10 year range), and a vision for eternity. If I were some kind of inspirational speaker, this is the point in my rousing speech where I would launch into my point about goal making. I'm not some kind of inspirational speaker. I'm just a girl who's 22 who's trying to sort out what in the world she's doing with her life, or if she even needs to know.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine, who is trying to match her outputs with her inputs when it comes to life questions

The day I was daring and determined

2011-12-02T22:56:00.001+11:00

With the way my morning began, I should have known it would be an extraordinary day. By the time I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, threw on my running clothes, tied my shoes, and timidly opened the door to test the day's weather, it was about 7:00 in the morning. Looking left and right and left and right, trying to decide which way I'd run today, I came back to the obvious - the ocean was on the right, why would you ever run left?

And so I ran right. Not with all my might, or strength or speed, it was just a nice trotting sort of run down the street, across the road, to the ocean. All of a sudden, it seized me. It [the magnetic desire for the sea] generally does when I run near the ocean, but this time it got the best of me and I found myself loping across the road and down towards the beach. There was no going back now. I jogged up and back on the beach, unlaced my shoes, tucked my ipod in with my socks, shed an appropriate amount of clothing, took a running start and

PLUNGED

into the ocean.

Headfirst, committed, kicking, swimming. Oh, it was grand. The sky with her newly born sun, the sea spread out to the skyline of the city and faraway Geelong. There was, of course, some accompanying awkwardness. This great feat of daring probably looked a little foolish because I ran, I plunged and swam, but then I stood up with the water nearly to my waist... Then I did some more running and thought about old people and water aerobics, and swimming. Once I was out in the deep blue sea, I didn't really know what to do. I'd never been there before. So I floated. I tread water and did spins. I swam and kicked and watched the dogs walking their humans on the shore.

I swam back after a bit and did some squats - what a strange word. Somehow squats are more dignified and elitist if you're doing them with your toes in the ocean. After a few of those, I slid into Warrior II and looked mightily down the beach. When I'd finished and squeezed some of the saltwater out of my dripping ponytail, I decided it was time to come back to reality and figure out how I was getting out of here.

If you remember, I came down to the beach in my running shoes, my fabulous yellow and gray nike lunar flys. I wasn't about to put those sandy, wet feet back in my shoes. So I carried them. I picked my way through the underbrush along the path, I stepped over the orange tape that marked the beginning of the path reconstruction, I tiptoed up the bulldozed path, and ran back through grassy front yards to the house.

That afternoon, I realized what the Warrior II, the slightly post-sunrise swim, and the barefoot trek had prepared me for. It's something called the government runaround. It happens in all countries, is intended by no politician or plebeian, it just happens. I went to the Post Office intent on filing my background check for working with children. I thought I had all the necessary paperwork...things are never that easy. I was sent to the bank to print off a bank statement. Back to the Post, too bad the address is a PO box, it must be a residential address. But I was determined. How could I back down now? I felt it would be doing a disservice to the Founding Fathers to give up. Back to the bank, change the account address, print and sign. Back to the Post, acceptable at last. Filed, stamped, receipt-ed.

In the middle of all of this running around, awkward thing number 23498237478945623948723498 happened. There I was, standing in line at the bank. No one is talking but the tellers. Nondescript pop-ish music is playing, and there are ads about loans and saving on the walls. Standing in front of me is a rather dilapidated soul with an out of hand offspring intent on wreaking mischief. Why the woman was carrying both pairs of their shoes in her hand escapes me, but it gives you a little insight into the eccentric nature of the situation. Abruptly, the woman pulls the earphones out of her ears and turns to me. That's fine, I can handle stranger small talk. Too bad this wasn't small talk. In fact, it was pretty big talk. She starts off with - so say your boyfriend that you've been with for two years breaks up with you and after a week, he's with another woman but I still want to talk things through with him.

WHAT?!

Maybe I should be flattered that out of all the people in town, she felt the girl standing behind her wearing the Hope for Africa t-shirt would be the best option for an impromptu counseling session. So she asked for my advice. Repeatedly. I'll confess, I wasn't prepared to give a dissertation on why Jesus can fulfill all your needs, and a few ambiguous statements trickled out instead. Well, maybe he wasn't worth being with? How quickly can people change? You just cry a lot and spend time with your close friends and move on.

After each of these bewildered attempts at addressing the situation, she'd nod and mmmm. Finally, it was her turn at the teller's desk, so she walked away, shoes in hand, and I went to talk with Jill, who printed off my bank statement [the first attempt]. My life is so weird. Grimace.

Love to you, wherever you are,

Little Miss Sunshine

Dreams of sharpened crayons

2011-12-01T22:22:00.000+11:00

There would be indoors and outdoors and plenty of dirt and costumes and easels and books and hats and masks. Of course, we would need a kitchen and places to hang timelines and display prints of famous people and places and artwork. There would be plenty of magnets, of course, and rulers and food coloring and weights and measures. We could probably fit a stage in the corner, close to the piano and the guitar stand. I'm just not sure what we would do about desks.

Oh, dreams of a classroom. We'd be reciting poetry, growing herbs, experimenting with physics, and of course, learning logic. I know they're only in third grade, but what else would you have them doing? Using worksheets? When so many of them learn through seeing, hearing, touching? Believe me when I say there are children who have never smelled fresh basil and wouldn't know a petunia from a parsnip.

My dream classroom would be a crossroads for scholars, where writers could write, readers could read, statesmen could study the Declaration of Independence, and singer/songwriters could pick up a guitar for the first time. It would be a place of order, no doubt about that. No one can learn in chaos, but mud, finger painting, mad scrambles and baby chickens don't always mean chaos.

Some would say we must choose between teaching students to reason and problem solve and teaching them about Columbus in 1492 and William in 1066. That's a lot of rubbish. It's like saying you have to choose between peanut butter and jelly when everyone knows that you need both for a sandwich. We'll have our peanut butter and our jelly, thank you very much, except maybe we'll do peanut free peanut butter in case of allergies.

Hum. All that's left to do is find a job and get to sewing my curtains and building a theater stage and... someday I will have a classroom outfitted for greatness. Until then, I'll be editing my resume and looking at salary schedules and wondering if I'll ever be a teacher at all. It seems so unattainable, to be an adult with a job that I studied four years for. How did it come to this? How have I survived public bathrooms, crossing streets and fast food restaurants unscathed? I don't know, except that maybe the children that I'm praying for even now will one day walk in that door and I will be given the gift of teaching them.

Love,
LMS

The awkward things that will happen to you

2011-11-30T18:04:00.000+11:00

Dear Reader,

There are things that will happen to you. I don't mean to alarm you, but unless you are the prima ballerina for the Russian Ballet, you will probably have awkward things spill into your lap and stain your dress pants. That should ease your apprehensions a little, knowing that these madcaps are common to the general populace. In fact, you've probably already experienced some or all of these. Hopefully, you have the presence of mind and mastery of wit to turn them into fantastic moments of comedy, after which you can bow and sign autographs. And now, for the list, not in any particular order.

1. Losing your skirt/shorts in public.

For an instant, you feel that free as a toddler in a backyard wading pool feeling. Quickly enough, that happy ancient memory is replaced by the sinking of the stomach in the realization that you have lost your skirt. Whether it's been tucked into your undies after a bathroom break or you happened to be running across campus and the elastic wasn't in as great of shape as you thought, you've managed to make a spectacle of yourself. This is unfortunate, but probably won't ruin your career unless you're a politician or you happen to have national secrets tattooed to your upper hamstring.

2. Spilling things.

Considering that you spend most of your first years doing this, it's remarkable that you even expect to go through adulthood without doing it. Sometimes it happens on airplanes, which is OK unless you're sandwiched between people who are asleep. Sometimes it happens in restaurants. If you're wearing white and you think it's a good idea to order spaghetti because it's cheap, just remember what it will cost you in stain remover to get that sauce out. You might not even be the clumsy one, but watch out for waitresses. Most of them are masters of balance, but there is the occasional clutz.

3. People who are bad at having normal conversations.

You know these people, you might even be one yourself. They just aren't great at making small talk. Their sense of timing is slightly left of true North, or they feel frustratingly ingenuine if they talk about things besides politics and economics or the latest development in technology. Having conversations with these people is not for the faint of heart, but someone has got to take the time to model normalcy for these poor unfortunate souls.

4. Dodging strangers.

This happens to me a lot. I'm in an airport or a busy store or on the sidewalk and someone is walking towards me. Somehow, in a moment of body language illiteracy, I dodge the wrong way, right myself, and then walk to the other side, but by then they've readjusted and we look like we're doing some tribal jungle dance in the middle of the street trying to get around each other.

5. Kissing.

It is likely that you know this just from watching romantic comedies. I don't fully endorse watching them, but I have been known to indulge now and then. There can be lots of potentially awkward things about kissing, but one of the notable ones is noses. It's important to tilt the right direction or else you're going to knock noses and the romantic sentimentality of the moment will be thwarted. It's also important not to go smushing people's noses so they can't breathe. Be considerate. Try to do some thinking while your heart is racing and your eyes are sparkling.

6. Being a third party to an untimely comment.

Sometimes watching the awkwardness is just as bad or worse as being involved in it yourself. For example, if you're talking with two people and one person says something dreadful like, "People with green ears are imbeciles. I don't know how they function without a brain." without knowing that the other person has green ears. Oh dear. You are privy to information that not everyone has. There's nothing you can say to undo the comment, so the best thing is usually to steer the conversation to something pleasant like spice cake or cows.

7. Receiving Tiffany rings and giving Target ones.

In the spirit of Christmas, my last example of awkward situations you will find yourself in is the realm of gift giving. You have friends (I hope) and each of these friends has a different idea about gifts. Some love to give gifts at any and all occasions, while others aren't into gifting. You, by logical reasoning, fall somewhere in between these two spectrum ends. Awkward things can happen when friends live at different ends of the spectrum. You might meet a friend to exchange Christmas gifts and you're handed a Tiffany blue box a fabulous ring in it, but all you have to give is the Target one you found last week on sale. Not good, folks, not good.

This post is dedicated to the girl who walked in front of me this afternoon, whose awkward story can be found in my previous post.

LMS

Identities, library adventures and walkward moments...

2011-11-30T17:59:00.000+11:00

Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror and think "Um, who are you, and what are you doing in my mirror space?!" Maybe it's just where I am in life and in the world, but sometimes I just feel like a million different people.

Today my outfit consists of Adidas socks, tennis shoes, jeans (that are wet on the cuffs because the weather is abominably contrary and wet), my OBU intramural softball t-shirt, a side ponytail and a trucker hat that is sitting on my head crooked and backwards, oh and my nails are currently Sally Hansen "#250 Lightening". Then there's my slightly hipster slouchy cardi with big dramatic sunglasses look, my tropical wear bold prints and Costa Rican earrings from Liz look, and the black sundress with the narrow belt and pearls look. I also have my outdoorsy hiker chic in Chacos and diva in heels and wide leg trouser looks. I mean… WHAT? Who do you think you are?

It doesn’t stop there. Oh no. Even with my friends I'm different people. My best friend, Zanna, told me once that I'm a chameleon, and I just adapt to whoever I'm with. If I'm with the ranch cousins, I'm Cowgirl Sunshine. If I'm with the Compass crew, I'm Outdoor Sunshine. If it's Han - Dance Party Sunshine, Liz - Change the World Sunshine, SG - Tea and Scones Sunshine, Katie - Theatrical Sunshine, Rach - Coffee Time Chat Sunshine, Chez - Slightly Hippie Spontaneous Sunshine, Princess Punkin - Politics and Fashion Sunshine… you'd think I was Barbie or Baskin Robins ice cream or something.

Granted, there are some things that don't change. I'll tell you I love Jesus and cows and dancing whether I'm in a little black dress or having a mud war… but do I need to get a life? Are there rules about these things? Once again, I'm playing in the adult league and no one has handed me the rule book! Maybe that should be my next writing project if one doesn't exist already - writing a rule book for surviving in the real world.

Today I went to the library with SG. We love the library. It's our second home. I went to get a book and SG went to study. Now, when I say get a book it sounds simple. There are books everywhere, so you should just be able to pick one off the shelf and walk out the door. Mission accomplished. As it turns out, it's such a difficult task! After you've read the likes of Lewis and Lenski and Dickens and Austen, there's no shortage of high standards. I want a book that will woo me, bring me flowers, tell me the truth and be so enthralling that I hate it for making me want to spend all my time with it.

I wandered through the aisles aimlessly, reading the back of a book here, checking the title of a classic there, and always looking for cool covers. I'm such a sucker for cover designs. I have a hard time reading a book if I don't like the cover. Just as soon as I'd find an interesting one, I'd find that it was about some person having an affair or being abused by someone or something. Can I just have a good novel without all the gory sex details please and thank you? I walked home with a 400 page biography of Martin Luther. I'm not entirely satisfied, but it's won awards, so we'll see how we go.

On my walk home, one of those awkward things in life happened. You know how there's an unwritten list of awkward things in life? Well, this is one of them. I was walking up the hill and a girl crossed from the other side of the street to my side, walking the same direction as me. Our paces aligned and I was walking a couple yards behind her. AWKWARD WALKWARD! What are you supposed to do? Just walk slower? Walk faster and pass her? Walk faster and then slow down when you get to beside her and strike up a conversation about why she's carrying yellow wrapping paper? Being ambitious and competitive, I went for option 2… AND FAILED! I sped up to the point where we were walking beside each other, but then she sped up a little and the hill was getting steeper by the stride, so I relinquished my lead and fell back, turning to option 1. Ohhhhh awkward things in life. I think I'll write a blog post about that.

Much love,

LMS

The first Christmas carol the angels did sing...

2011-11-28T23:16:00.000+11:00

To say that I love Christmas would be so far from the truth as to nearly be a lie. It would be like saying LA is near to New York. Well, it would be a truth if you compare the distance to Australia, but it still hardly captures the real truth. To say that I sing, breathe and long for Christmas from December 26 - December 24 is more accurate. On a sunny day in July, it is not unlikely that I will be singing The First Noel or O, Holy Night.

Sometimes I think of Christmas carols in modern language and chortle with mirth…

The firrrrst Christmas carol, the angels did sing was to keep the shepherds from freaking out in their pastures with their sheep on that nasty cold night. Christmas carol, Christmas carol, Christmas carol, Christmas carol, born is the King of Israel.

Hey, pay attention! The messenger variety of angels sing, Honor to the newborn King, peace on earth and a gentle kind of mercy, God and sinners can experience harmony again. Nations, get on your feet and get excited, get in on this praise fest that's going on with the angels and let everyone know that Christ the King is born in Bethlehem!

I really doubt that this will be my only Christmas post. Like Advent, there will probably be a lead up to Christmas. I'm not trying to compare the importance of my blogging with Advent… I'm just saying you will hear about Christmas more than once, if I have anything to do with it.

Also, I've been specially commissioned this year to write the family Christmas letter. This is a big deal. This is also a hard deal. I'm not really sure why I volunteered for the gig in the first place. I think I got a little overeager and excited about Christmas and acted impulsively. Mom asked who wanted it, and I won the bid. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. How in the world am I supposed to do this (competitive to the core)? My dad is a writer, my mom has the organizational prowess and longstanding experience, my brothers have comedy dripping from their fingertips. This is a high stakes test of my writing skills, and I haven't even been in the same state, much less the same country as my family for most of the year.

This Christmas post is going to end up being a mishmash (sidenote: mishmash is Arabic for apricot) of things because I don't even know where to start with a Christmas post. I could make a list of things I love about Christmas or things I want to do over Christmas break, or my Christmas list, or reasons that people hate Christmas. Shoot, I could just make a list of Christmas blog post ideas.

Most important things:

Christmas is awesome (not as awesome as Easter, but pretty darn close and Christmas has better songs)

I'M COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS IN 17 DAYS

Sometimes people hate Christmas for reasons that don't have to do with real Christmas

I'M COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS IN 17 DAYS

You don't have to buy me a present, just call and talk to me on the phone, but when we run out of things to talk about, please make up a reason why you have to go because talking about nothing is awkward

I'M COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS IN 17 DAYS

Remember to floss during the Christmas season because fudge and candy canes can give you cavities

I'm abandoning this list because it's turning into nonsense because my excitement for Christmas has rendered me disorientedly ecstatic.

Yours truly,

Little Miss Sunshine

PS I apologize for the flurry of posts, refer to Confession 36 for an explanation of this phenomenon.

Yelling at People

2011-11-28T23:13:00.000+11:00

I love to yell.

My friends don't like this about me, but thankfully, they haven't disowned me yet for it. I just love to yell. Maybe I feel it communicates my excited fervor more satisfactorily than if I just talk in a regular old volume. Because I'm a well-integrated member of society, I realize that cultural propriety severely limits the occasions when it is appropriate for me to yell. I have never quite forgiven culture for this. Yelling at sporting events is OK, and yelling across distances is OK if you're outside, and yelling if there's an emergency is OK. Do you realize how limiting this is? How absolutely stifled I feel? Ugh.

If I could yell at will, I would probably yell about most things. I would yell about happy things…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I AM SO GLAD WE'RE FRIENDS!

I JUST LOVE COWS, ISN'T THAT THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MILK COW YOU'VE EVER SEEN?!

I would yell sad things…

I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE BREAK THEIR PROMISES!

I’M SO SORRY YOU'RE SICK!

I would yell mad things…

I FORGOT THAT ASSIGNMENT!

DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!

For the sake of the rest of the world, it's probably a good thing that cultural norms have curbed my volume and verbiage. If I didn't think it would hurt people's feelings, sometimes I would yell at them that they're being absolutely ridiculous. This usually happens when I'm talking with people who should know better but don't seem to, like people who say they follow Jesus but do really immature things, or people who sneer ad hominem arguments that are demeaning and illogical. Instead of yelling at people, I just blog. You don't know who I'm talking about, and most of the time I'm just generalizing anyway.

I was talking to SG about it the other day. A situation happened and a person did something dumb that they knew was dumb. I wasn't there, but I yelled afterwards to make up for my absence, which was convenient because the person wasn't there to witness my outburst. After I declared her a silly, unprincipled human, I realized what a dodobird I was being. How is it that I claim to know and love the grace of Jesus but fail so often to extend that grace to others? That's not an excuse for letting people do dumb things, but maybe there is something to that gentle, quiet restorative spirit.

As of now, I haven't yelled anything at anyone in anger, but I'm still working on decreasing my happy yelling. From what I can tell, sometimes it's just annoying, and I dread and loathe the idea of being annoying. Maybe I'll just buy a field for yelling. Then I can just shout away all kinds of things and be the calmest, collected girl there ever was when I have to be. Guess I'd better start saving for a field or something.

LMS

Running Around Headless

2011-11-28T23:10:00.000+11:00

Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is. Eph. 5:15-17

Sometimes I feel like I'm running around like a chicken without a head. (It's really kind of ridiculous to butcher chickens and let them run around. It's much more efficient and tidy to tie them upside down to a fence pole before you decapitate them.) Today, in particular, was busy. We started the morning with breakfast with Bill (a Monday morning ritual), walked down to the pre-school playgroup, walked up to the house to lunch, rode our bikes to the school for Bible study, caught a ride to cut out art projects for a friend, dressed for work, grabbed a nectarine on my way out the door and walked back down the hill to serve tacos.

This morning, I heard a mom at playgroup comment about how she always feels busy but doesn't really know what she's busy with, but that it's ok because at least she's busy.

Do you ever hear things or see things and think "NOOOOOOOO!"

Thankfully, I didn't say that. How easy is it to spend your life buying groceries, paying bills, running errands, without actually living in a direction? Let's practice a little self-awareness here. All of the things you're doing, you can think about too. At the restaurant, for example, I could just do. I could take plates, take orders, take money, sweep, wipe down tables, sounds like what I'm being paid to do, but it would sort of be running around headless. It would be so much more profitable if I kept tabs on what supplies needed re-stocking, made fruit mixes in my spare time, and tried to make my trips to and from the kitchen the most efficient possible. I could figure out the best way to keep multiple food orders organized in my head without using pen and paper. I could hone my restaurant intuition and practice some self-reflection on how I could improve my customer service skills.

I'm sure, as a mom to a three year old, this woman does plenty of changing diapers, wiping noses, and trying to keep up with household things. I'm not downing her for being busy or seeing life as a blur, but I wanted to tell her not to let her life just go. Before she knows it, Jay is going to be 10 and his values and intellect are going to be well on their way to being fully formed. If she doesn't "take life by the horns" (thank you, Chevy), she might get to the end of these years and find some regrets. As a very goal oriented person, I think everyone should have purpose statements for things. This might be a little silly, but I feel like it keeps expectations organized and minimizes disappointment and miscommunication…

Purpose statement for going out to dinner: try new food, don't feel stuffed when you walk out the door

Purpose statement for going to the store: buy apricot jam, red bell peppers and coffee

Purpose statement for my next road trip: stay alive, stay within the budget, have a blast

Purpose statement for parenting a 3 year old: teach him French, teach him to throw a baseball, teach him that Jesus loves him

SG and I could get really busy saying yes to every offer we get. Let me tell you, we've had some great offers - come spend the night outside for a homeless fundraiser, come hang out with youth and eat icecream, come see this art gallery… and we could just run around saying yes to things without thinking about them, but where would that get us? Tired and having accomplished a lot of random things. We have had to have several conversations, and continue to, about how we use our time in Australia. What is it that God has gifted us in? What has He put us in Australia to do? Are the things we're doing things that are making Jesus bigger and us smaller? These are just some of the questions we have to ask as we figure out how in the world we are supposed to "walk as wise" chicks in a very busy place.

Love from a busy and happy LMS

That thing that makes your blood pump

2011-11-26T17:40:00.000+11:00

I spent most of the day stuck in a room filling out paperwork and looking outside where the rain was coming down from a very leaky sky. Sounds like the makings of misery, but it was great instead. It was great because it was a training session for CRE that SG and I attended. CRE is short for Christian Religious Education and it's a program in Australian public schools, which sounds quite foreign to this American ex-education major. Christian religion? In public schools? Believe it.

They stopped the program a few years back but reinstated it when they realized the kids they were graduating were missing some of the values that CRE used to instill in them. The program works like this. If there are trained teachers available, the school is supposed to allow them to have a CRE program in the normal school day. The kids can opt out of the class if their parents send a note, so it's not compulsory.

As CRE teachers, we get to teach the Bible and character lessons, but no preachy converting allowed. That's fine by me because most people don't like that anyway. I am SO excited to be back in the classroom. I realized this today when our training manual had things like Maslow's hierarchy of needs, learning styles, and lesson plans in it.

I love being in the classroom. It's that thing that makes my blood pump, besides that heart/electromagnetic stuff. Combine that with my love for God's Word and boyoooo, lookout, rambunctious teacher coming your way. I mean, it shrinks under the shadow of my love for Christmas and cows, but being in the classroom is definitely a highlight of my life.

Hopefully, SG and I will get placed at the elementary school that is closest to the church, which is central to everything we do. Excited excited excited. Did I mention I'm really excited to be in the classroom again? I spent four years getting ready to be in a classroom and then I up and went to Australia. Here's my chance at practicing classroom management, differentiated instruction, and all that other teachery mumbo jumbo. It makes me want to my school supplies and teacher bags and dry erase markers. Mmmm classroom.

If everything works out, we'll teach starting next semester, which basically begins in March, until the end of June. They seem to have a great curriculum that's full of ideas and resources and covers the Bible in a way that gives kids a sense of chronology. AH. Can't wait.

Love,
LMS

Two Pilgrims, Five Indians

2011-11-24T15:15:00.000+11:00

It was with some misgivings that I boarded that great airship for a land called Australia. I didn't know what sort of place I would find it to be, or the people I would meet, but that wasn't enough to stop me. When I arrived with my friend, SG, we found a hospitable group of natives eager to meet us and know our names. They taught us the language and showed us around the settlements. They shared their customs, their dinners and their homes with us.

Yesterday, we gave thanks. For these kind new friends and a place to stay, we Pilgrims gave thanks. And this is how we did it…

Tuesday night, we made a menu. Yes, I know Thanksgiving dinner was the next day, but you have to do what you have to do. Wednesday around 11, we went to the store. I'm not a mom yet, so I can still do some things last minute. The first item of business was the turkey. Australians don't really eat turkey, so this was a bit of a problem. Our choices were pre-cooked whole turkey (WEIRD!) or frozen turkey breast that was in a mysterious loaf pan box (FRIGHTENING!). We went with the mystery box, hoping it would be nothing like turkey meatloaf. Next we divided to conquer - apples, onions, sweet potatoes, green beans, bread, all of that. SG was armed with her detailed list that included weights and measures for each recipes. I was armed with… well, let's just say I was a little less prepared but hoping that my previous Thanksgiving memories would steer me in the right direction.

Twice I enlisted the help of the trusty assistant to the foreigner - the shelf stocker. He helped me find a pie crust, which was called a flan form? He also helped me not find cranberries, as they don't carry frozen ones, and the fresh weren't in season. Don't take your local grocery stores for granted, at least you can get cranberries at Thanksgiving.

After we paid for our bounty, we stuffed and loaded the things that couldn't be damaged into my backpack and trekked up the hill. There, we recharged with some lunch and made a list of tasks, including break options that included watching Hannah and Sam's wedding video and a dance party… little did we know that neither of those would get done.

We chopped, minced, diced, sliced, massaged, snipped, blanched, and engaged in a lot of other culinary verbs all afternoon. In my mind, we'd do some prep work, then take a nap, wake up and pop everything in the oven. Wrong. By the time we were done prepping, it was time to put things in! We had roses for centerpieces and awesome place cards, courtesy of SG's awesome Thanksgiving stickers. The guests arrived, we hastily changed into party clothes, swept up our hair and touched up the mascara.

Midway through the turkey cooking, we realized it called for an extra half hour of baking, on top of what we'd scheduled, so we extended our dinner time a little, and were only 37 minutes late in the end. Thankfully, the turkey was done, and didn't look like turkey meatloaf. We feasted on herbed turkey breast, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, sauteed green beans with bacon and garlic, dressing, and finally pumpkin pie with home made whipped cream.

Our guests, which included our host parents, their son in law and grandson, and our friend Bill, who comes to breakfast every Monday at 8am, all thought the flavors different from what they were used to. The sweet potatoes were a mystery to them, and the sweet tea and pumpkin pie were nearly inconceivable (or incontheivable if you're a Princess Bride fan). They all left feeling full and happy (we hope). There was no football, but there were plenty of family stories and gales of laughter. We even had some leftovers for lunch today!

As all the guests were leaving, I shouted at SG, who was two feet to my left. She looked a bit startled as that volume in normal people is usually used to indicate a fire or other natural disaster. It all came clear in that moment, and I loudly and excitedly explained to her that this really was the first Thanksgiving! We Pilgrims had come to a strange land and had been greeted by local Indians who kindly guided us through the rhythms of life in this new place. What a great way to celebrate in the true spirit of Thanksgiving!!

We found hosting Thanksgiving dinner to be quite an endeavor, but well worth it for the sake of our wonderful Indian friends.

For all these things, we give thanks,

Little Miss Sunshine

Only, Solely, Alone

2011-11-24T08:28:00.000+11:00

It is a desolate place. The earth is sun baked from scorching summers and stained a rusty red from the blood that has often fallen there. Bits of metal and rubbish litter the ground, the resting place of many tears. You would be a fool to kneel there, the place where human carnage has sullied what was once christened "and behold, it was very good". There are no prayer shawls, plaques or icons here. Two beams of wood and a handful of nails stand tall. It is a place of bereavement. There is no alternate route, no options. You wish for "it will be OK" and "don't worry about it" and "it's only a religious symbol" but there is only a deep and penetrating silence. The slightest breath grates deafeningly on your ears.

This is a place that knows things. There is no crevice of your heart that is unscrutinized, no thought unnoticed. There is no worship band, no bulletin, no offering plates. Here only two things exist, you and those two beams of wood, heavy, bloody beams of wood. It is enough. God's death is sufficient. Not God's death plus outreach programs. Not God's death plus prayer and fasting. God saves sinners. It is enough.

There is a gripping power in the paradox of the Gospel. The thing you most desperately desire is free. It cannot be earned or achieved, only accepted.

Follow me. Seek first the kingdom, my kingdom, and the rest will take care of itself. Don't seek first social justice. Don't seek first Bible translation. Don't seek first food pantries. Seek me and you will find me, and you'll get the rest thrown in. It is no surprise that the rich young man found the cost of the Gospel too high. The gift is free for receiving, but receiving it will cost you everything. And in that loss, you will find the greatest gain.

If we disregard the power of "And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved." we must resort to programs and universalism to entertain the people who warm our pews. Entertain? Has church become merely a pageant where people are brought into conversation but never conversion, and spirituality masquerades as faith? Let it not be so.

Let us not forget that place of death from which life springs, the spiritual warring that brought us peace, the wounding that resulted in healing for any who would receive it. All our attempts at religion and graceful goodness pale in comparison. What is our petty offering to charity compared with these bloody beams? Here, a whole life was offered. Can we truly stand in this desolate place thinking we have done any good? These towering splintery posts slowly strip away illusions of personal moral grandeur like wind erodes the soil, until there's nothing left of you but you.

Only you stand before the cross. Gone are your greatest achievements, your claims to fame. You cannot bring friends to stand with you, or loved ones to hold your hand. You are alone in this place, but it doesn't leave you alone for long. It takes all you clung to and fills you with new life. The love that drove the nails now fills you. Only now can you begin to be who you were always meant to be.

Flat Stanley and I Go to Melbourne

2011-11-22T14:13:00.000+11:00

You know those situations where you could say no, but you say yes instead? Those situations that sound crazy and are crazy but you made the choices that got you there? I think I'm in one of those.

Clocks in houses all over this time zone have recently chimed seven in the morning. Where do I find myself on this newly minted Tuesday morning? A train, and not just any train - a train I ran for and didn't look to see which one it was! All trains go to Melbourne, right? This is what I reasoned as I jogged after the woman from my early morning bus.

Rest assured, dear reader, it was the right train. being on the train this morning reminds me of butterflies that get on and off subways and hat purchases that will likely turn out to be a mistake. This morning I am headed to the city to... well, I'm not quite sure yet. What I do know is I have Flat Stanley tucked safely in my bag and we're going on an adventure. I packed my bag the night before so in the morning all I had to do was roll out of bed, slide into my jeans and a plaid and tighten down my Chaco straps. I have my favorite Melbourne map, notebook, Bible, Stanley the traveling flat kid, and of course a wallet and an apple. (They have beeeautiful pink Lady apples in this country.) When in doubt, always pack a wallet and an apple. I was going to eat it on the train, but now I'm knee to knee and hip to hip with three middle aged women and they might mind the crunching. Back to inventory. Left back pocket holds my train ticket, right front pocket is the usual chapstick and packet knife and front left is a cough drop and five dollar note.

Here's why this could possibly be a terrible idea. I'm sick. Any mother within earshot of my wracking hacking cough would make me stay in bed and give me an IV of soup and herbal tea. But i packed tissues and a cough drop instead. Also, tonight, our host parents are hosting a BBQ for some of the people staying in their short term flats. There will be salad making and cole slawing and general entertaining to do. Oh yeah, and tomorrow, we host Thanksgiving for 7. Have we done so much as made a menu? No. As you can see, there are carious reasons why this could be a terrible idea. General foreboding aside, I'm reasonably optimistic that this could turn out alright.

Now arriving in South Yarra, says the recorded voice of the train. I'm back on the train. It's 10:40, but it feels like 2 in hte afternoon because I just power walked half of the city. I am pleased to report, this was not a disaster. Flat Stanley and I toured the east half of the city after we disembarked at Flinders Street Station.

Let me tell you - Prince of Egypt is a great soundtrack for busy train stations. i struck out confidently, not knowing where I was going (as is my custom) and went north on Spring St. where I detoured through the Treasury Gardens and saw some Occupying of Melbourne happening. Then there was the Old Treasury building, Parliament Gardens and the detour on Albert Street to St. Patrick's magnificent Cathedral where I met the lady from Colorado who offered to take a picture of Stan and I. Then she told me about coming here for her daughter's wedding [don't worry yet, mom], and her trip to a village in Herzegovina where there are aberrations of the blessed mother, which, from what I gathered, means the whole town can feel Mary's presence. I said, yeah, it's great that we have God's presence with us in the Holy Spirit. Haha. Divine appointments.

Stanley and I also went through Chinatown and Koorong, the local Christian bookstore before going up to the Queen Victoria Market. There was a lot to see, but I just bought a mango and a chocolate chip brioche. I power walked out of there (in the wrong direction), asked for Flinders Station and about faced.

I just had time to job (again) and make it on the train. i don't remember what to do at the bus stop because I've only done that part once, and that was with SG and written directions. Oh well, I'll figure something out. Hopefully, with what's let of my lovely day off, SG and I can plan a Christmas program, plan Thanksgiving and go to the beach before the dinner guests arrive!

Much love,

LMS

When a conservative girl gets asked to speak in church...

2011-11-20T14:21:00.000+11:00

So... our dear Pastor John had a weekend off, this weekend and he asked if SG and I would give a reflection/sermonette/message on the passage of the week. Being raised in Baptist and community churches, we didn't know what to think about being women speaking from the front of the sanctuary. I confess, I still don't know what I think, but it happened. And this is what I said...

Hi, my name is Little Miss Sunshine, and today I want to tell you about a fantastic cleaning product. It’s called ReligionOn, and it will change your life. It has the power to clean up your life, your relationships, and your career. The secret to ReligionOn is its dynamic combination of ingredients. Specially formulated by scientists, it combines Jesus Christ, ethics, morality, philosophy, and the essence of self-esteem and positivity to clean away any grime you have in your life. You can buy this revolutionary product all for the amazing price of $19.95. You heard me, $19.95!

An advertisement like this would be something to laugh at, if you were to find it on TV or in the newspaper, but really, ads like this exist and they are no laughing matter. The world has all kinds of products that claim to make your life better. Meditation, spirituality, community involvement, even a promotion and taking up running would do you good.

The people found in our reading today lived in a similar situation. They didn’t have TVs or email, but they lived in a place that was full of people telling them that a solution other than Jesus could be found for life’s big questions.

The book of Ephesians is a letter Paul wrote to the church at Ephesus. Here are some things you should know about the city of Ephesus. In 100 AD, it had a population of about half a million. There were three major roads that passed through Ephesus, as well as a port that brought in cargo from around the area. Because it was a sort of international/intercultural crossroads, it was also an important religious hub. That gives us a little historical/cultural/geographical background.

As Sarah mentioned earlier, this portion of the book of Ephesians is a prayer. Paul has worked with this church, we read about that in Acts 19, and he knows their situation. He spent a couple of years teaching and preaching there. God was doing miracles and people were coming to know Him. So Paul knows that they are a strong, growing church. When we come to the prayer, which is a common feature in Paul’s letters, he says this, the first part Sarah read to you, and here’s the second part, beginning in chapter 1, verse 19:

… and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age, but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

As Sarah talked about earlier, this prayer for a spirit of wisdom and revelation in knowledge of God, and a knowledge of this great hope and inheritance finishes with a prayer that the followers of Jesus in Ephesus would know the huge, great, awesome power that God has toward those who believe. He doesn’t conclude there with an Amen and dive into instructions for the church. Instead, Paul takes a moment to write about the ultimate demonstration of that power, the resurrection of Jesus, to give credence to this idea of power in the lives of believers.

After the resurrection, Jesus was seated at the Father’s right hand, “far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age, but also in the one to come.” The Ephesians would have been well acquainted with those ideas of hierarchical power, in everything from being governed by the Roman Empire to the pagan religious powers present in the city.

It wasn’t just that Jesus died and God evacuated him from the situation and left us to our own devices. He didn’t come to earth as a secret agent, complete his mission, and move into retirement. Paul says “[God] put all things under [Jesus’] feet and gave him as head over all things to the church”. Jesus is the head of the church and its chief cornerstone. He is not absent or distant. He is not outdated or so meek as to be rendered powerless. He is still in on the action, working in his church around the world today. This is the Lamb John writes about in Revelation 5:9-10

“And they sang a new song, saying, ‘Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth.’”

This is the God of power that Paul prays the Ephesians would know. He doesn’t ask that they would know the power of God through Jesus and the power of positivity. He doesn’t ask that they would know the power of God through Jesus and the power of being involved in organizations. Jesus and Jesus alone is King, worthy of our time and trust. There is no need to buy the exclusive Jesus plus package. Luke summarizes this for us in Acts 4:11-12 when he quotes Peter speaking to the high priest:

“This Jesus is the stone that was rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone. And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”

The power of the empty tomb is enough. It is this power that Paul prays so fervently for the Ephesians to know in their own lives. Is our own situation so different? Living in a world where commerce and culture are constantly being transacted, where the theme of the day is religious pluralism – whatever works for you is fine, Jesus plus Buddha, or Jesus plus mystical spirituality, or even a common favorite, Jesus plus apathy! Jesus is fine, as long as you leave room for everything else, a religious buffet. But this Jesus who healed the blind and raised the dead, this Jesus who wept in the garden, who defeated death by his resurrection, this Jesus fills us so completely with his hope and his power, that there is room for nothing else.

What is our response to such a prayer? How do our lives reflect the eternal truth of Paul’s description of God’s power through Jesus? As Sarah said earlier, pray it! Pray it for the people you love, for yourself, for the world, that people would know the power of God that is found through Jesus Christ. Remember it. Tomorrow when you wake up, remember that you serve a King whose power is bigger than circumstances, worry, and broken hearts, and whose presence is forever with his people through his Holy Spirit. Live it. Live every moment as a person of hope, as a citizen of an eternal kingdom. Pray it, remember it, live it. Thank you.

* Three roads, major port, temple of Artemis, library of celsus (BiblePlaces.com/Ephesus.htm) 500,000 pop in 100 ad, 27 bc, under Augustus, was second only to Rome. (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ephesus)

*Verses taken from the ESV Bible

Rainy water, swimming water, living water

2011-11-20T14:11:00.000+11:00

Today was a rainy day. Sometimes it sprinkled and spat, sometimes it cascaded down in sheets, taking the occasional half hour break. I haven't done much today, in that I haven't left the house, and was in my pajamas until 11. However, I did move my lazy bones a bit in preparation for tomorrow. It's a pretty big day, tomorrow. SG and I are leading family Sunday school, helping with the music, giving our weekly report, reading the Scripture reading, and giving a reflection on the reading. That makes it sound like we're a big deal. We're not.

Sometimes I get the idea that I am, that I am important and autonomous enough to put a cap on my helping. If someone asks me to carry one more tricycle out to the playground, I'm going to let them have it, I grumble. Why won't these silly high schoolers eat crust toast. Don't they know there are people who would kill for crust? I complain. We get invited to come hang out with youth, but I don't really want to go because I don't want to be tired for Sunday. At night, as I kneel next to my bed like a four year old, I pray. Jesus, make me more like you. Jesus replies. Do you know what that means? I had no limits to my love, I didn't outgrow washing people's feet, I died the most painful death because I didn't want you to. Do you know what you're asking for?

Thursday, we got to hang out with our Aussie friends for dinner and prayer and general mucking around (Aussie for goofing off). Cath told us stories from her trip to Cambodia and showed some photos of the vibrant colors and glaring poverty there. It's easy enough to ignore when poverty is far from your neighborhood and human sex trafficking doesn't happen on your street corners. She told us about meeting some friends from IJM who do work in the country.

I always leave that house feeling refreshed and challenged. We talked about how silly it is for some to argue that social justice should be our focus of ministry while others say evangelism should be our priority. Can you separate the peanut butter from the jelly? Does loving God and others with all your heart allow any room for neglecting either meeting physical needs or meeting spiritual needs?

Yesterday, I took my first swim in the ocean! Chez met me down at the beach and Sam wandered over as well. As SG often reminds me, we are so blessed to have time for conversations on the beach in the middle of the afternoon. We talked for a while about Thanksgiving and Christmas break and how cold the Antarctic Ocean is. After a reasonable amount of egging on, I vacated my beachfront seat, took off running and plunged headfirst into the water. It really wasn't that cold. Funny enough, I'm still surprised every time I taste salt in the water. Too much time swimming in lakes and rivers for this girl!

Continue to pray for Mr. Matthews, as he's in a lot of pain with his pinched nerve, and they aren't really sure what course of action to take. He hates not being laid up and not out gardening, working with kids, and helping around church.

Well, friends, it's off to work at my favorite local taco joint!

Much love,

LMS

Curious George Makes Her Christmas List

2011-11-18T22:30:00.000+11:00

Dear friends, sorry it has been so long since I've written. In other news, I have decided what I want for Christmas. *drum roll, please*

1. Boyfriend
2. Lint roller
3. Headlamp
4. Rings, big, gaudy ones that make my long fingers look not so long
5. Knife sharpener

Now you may applaud that I have succeeded in completing this task before the first of December. Thank you.

Anticipating a mixture of bewilderment and backlash from you, my dear friends, I am prepared to explain myself. Firstly, the boyfriend. I think it's about time. I haven't been on a date in ages, and I've had enough of being single. It's fun and all for a while, and I've had quite a hayday, but now I'm done.

When I mentioned this to my mother over the phone while delivering my Christmas list, she asked how I planned on getting a boyfriend for Christmas. I haven't quite worked that out yet, but I'll keep you posted. I'm quite picky, but also full of hope. Besides, there's a kind of romance about Christmas. That might work in my favor. Lots of events, lots of people to meet at Christmas parties, even Jenny Harper's wedding to go to... I'm not entirely without ideas. Even distressed damsels have to figure out how to get themselves distressed in the first place.

The second item on my list, which is without sentimentality, but full of class. Do you ever see important, or just well dressed people with lint on their blue suits? I think not. I don't have a blue suit, but I do own a pair of blue trousers that happen to get rather linty when I wash them with my yellow hoodie. If I were particular, I would separate my lights and darks and all that, but only people with an enormous amount of laundry can carry off such a feat when living by themselves. Instead of walking around looking like Big Bird, bespeckled with yellow fuzzies, I'd rather delint myself and look presentable.

Headlamp. You do not know how many times in the last 6 months I have thought to myself, I should've bought that headlamp on sale! Who has enough hands to carry a flashlight, open your toothpaste, squish it onto your toothbrush and brush your teeth? That's only basic survival, you can forget about clambering through slippery dark caves.

Rings. Fingers full of rings. I think it fitting for people of my occupation, age and socioeconomic level to wear interesting jewelry. It needn't be expensive, only interesting. As my fingers are long and almost embarrassingly spidery, I find bulky rings to be a helpful finger mask.

If you cook at all, you know what a hazard dull knives can be. You think I misspoke and meant sharp knives. No, indeed! Dull knives are wildly dangerous. You try to cut an onion, slice with all your might because your knife is dull and off comes your finger instead of an onion ring. Oops. Guess I should have sharpened that knife before it cost me my finger. Not only is it dangerous, it's terribly tedious, and I do not like things that are tedious.

So that is my Christmas list. I have a small regret that it's not filled with romantic things like volumes of Frost's poetry or new colored pencils, but it will do.

Much love,

Georgia Delaney Hawthorne

Crafting, because everyone's doing it!

2011-11-16T22:05:00.001+11:00

First, a confession. I am not going to finish that book. Hunch or GoodReads recommended it to me, but it's just not good writing. Coyotes north of Portland that talk and have scarlet uniforms? No. Maybe for 250 pages, but not an ambitious 541. It was promising. It was a kids' chapter book, which I like, named Wildwood, which sounds nice, containing adventures in the woods with talking animals and magic, which was promising. The wording was descriptive, but it just didn't flow quite right. I asked SG what she thought, she wisely advised that life is too short to read bad books. Goodbye, Wildwood, I hope your author improves with practice.

Second, a purchase. Today I bought a dress. I love dresses. I love sundresses, little black dresses, wedding dresses, sweater dresses, even… OK, what the heck. I keep hearing this ticking noise in my room, like Captain Hook's croc is standing outside on my balcony or something. The annoying thing, besides its actual existence, is its inconsistency. Either stop and go away, or be steady enough that I can find you and dispose of your properly, ticking noise! Excuse me while I tend to this situation. Balcony's absence of crocodiles, check. Suitcase's absence of crocodiles, check. No, I didn't pack Scattergories, check. Noise has now stopped again, check.

Back to the subject at hand, dresses. A week ago, I moseyed into the op shop near the library. (Op shop = Australian for thrift store) There, in the recesses of outdated two piece women's suits, I found it. The cutest little tank top floral dress, all for the grand price of $3. (If you're counting, that's a whole 2.10 cheaper than that latte I bought at Starbucks) Impulsively, I tried it on. It fit, and, what's more, it had the feature most dresses should not be without, POCKETS!

Alas and alack, I left it on the rack, thinking, I really don't need more crap. Did I mention it was a little short? Well, today, dear friends, I went back with my compatriot, the illustrious SG, for a second opinion. I bought it. Three dollar dresses that fit are few and far between. Also, I bought a solution for the short problem, a pillowcase. That might a little like What's the capital of Idaho? 5. But it's true. I bought a yellow pillowcase with a ruffle in the artistic hopes that I could just add another band at the bottom. So, yes, I'll conform and post pictures, like all those real crafters who make light fixtures and furniture and knitted hats.

Third, an encounter… maybe that's not the right word. It sounds like I ran into a ghost or a rabid dog or something. Let's call it a… you decide for yourself what you will call it. Today at the little market, SG and I ran into two people! When you move to a new place, those kinds of events become landmarks of settling in. We are blessed to help out with the church play group, which boasts about 70 families spread over three days. That's a lot of moms. Plus there are church people, work people, high school people, and there's always the friends to run into, like when I ran into Jake and distracted him from studying by asking about his apple shaped beanie. It's a good feeling, knowing you have people to run into.

In 29 days, I'll be running into people I haven't seen in a while, and that will be a most joyous occasion, see you there.

LMS

Large plans and little experience

2011-11-16T22:03:00.000+11:00

You might say I packed my apron for such a time as this. Prepare yourself… I'm having more Thanksgivings overseas than I have ever had in the U.S. of A. Thanksgiving No. 1 will be held next Wednesday at our host parents' house. They usually have Wednesday night dinners with their son in law and grandson. It's fun to have a family dinner every week, and we just asked if we could cook next week for Thanksgiving. They've lived in the States before, so they know about Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving No. 2 is two days afterwards at the home of our pastor and his wife. They're both great cooks and have offered to have us and our first and second host parents over for dinner. There will even be American ingredients, more about that in a minute. Thanksgiving No. 3 has not been confirmed yet, but will hopefully be with "the friends" the Thursday after Thanksgiving. Yes, you noticed correctly, we won't be having any of these actually on Thanksgiving proper.

What have we signed up for? I've never baked a turkey before. I've stood by and watched while dad basted, massaged, and meticulously monitored temperatures of the departed fowl for hours. Zero to three Thanksgivings? Maybe we bit off more than we could chew (haha, Thanksgiving joke)?

Hopefully, my practical side with take command over my thoughts and we'll have a solid, sensible homage to our forefather Pilgrims and Indians. As an extrapolation of the data in Confession 36, I could either be up until midnight cutting out paperdoll turkeys and rolling out hand made pie crust, or buy something in the freezer aisle and hope for the best. Oh, middle road! Where are you in this tumult?

Speaking of food… on Tuesday, SG and I made a pilgrimage to the famed Queen Victoria Market in Melbourne (pronouced: MELL-bun). Showing ourselves as public transportation ninjas, we went by bus and train to the city, where we consulted our maps and after only getting lost once, we arrived. To say this is a huge market would be silly. First, the word huge is not worthy of such a market, second, it's larger than huge.

With the majority of it occupied by open air stalls under giant metal sheds, the market boasts aisles of everything from Aussie flag bikinis (that was a hard decision), boomerangs, and Middle Eastern table cloths to any kind of produce your heart could desire. The other portion of the market is indoor and is composed (comprised, composed??) of permanent tiny storefronts. There are fish mongers, butchers, coffee and tea shops, delicatessens draped in salamis and great wheels of cheese.

The first part of the morning, we wandered, aliens in a land of options. We agreed to just take stock of our surroundings, as we had several hours to finish any shopping we wanted to do. Up one aisle and down the next, a man heralding the price of cherries, and being told I should buy a boomerang and catch a man with it. After an hour and a half, we were overwhelmed and purchaseless. What's a girl to do in such dire straits? Why, seek out the nearest beacon of American culture, Starbucks. Although paying $5.10 for a tall gingerbread latte is exorbitant, I did it. Dire straits indeed. So we sat outside Starbucks. I ate half a piece of Turkish flatbread and SG, her PBJ. We regrouped and refueled while people watching on the sunny streets of Melbourne. After a short walk back to the market, by way of the beautiful State Library, we had connected with our inner retail warrior and girded our loins for what lay ahead.

We went to battle with epic enemies like "would Aunt Gertrude like this tea towel?" and "how many Australia magnets do I really need?" . Such foes have the potential to derail any Christmas shopping operation, but we routed them. I would give you the fine list of acquisitions, but they're Christmas presents, so I'll remain mute on the subject. Suffice it to say, we did well. Pastor John picked us up, as he was already in the city for something else and gave us a ride home. On the way, we stopped at USA Foods. This nondescript little shop on a nondescript street is a treasury of such gems as Dublin Dr. Pepper, Libby's canned pumpkin and Doritos. I think giddy would be an appropriate word there.

And so the two American girls arrived home footsore and triumphant after another day in the city.

Little Miss Sunshine

A Sense of Place

2011-11-15T21:37:00.000+11:00

Miles of sunbaked desert dirt stretch out underneath a fiercely blue sky. Saguaro extend their arms stoically upward. The only things that can live out here are scaly rattlesnakes and prickly peccaries, well, and Arizonans. Some would say the desert is a barren, desolate wasteland, but they haven't seen it after a spring thunderstorm. A fiery blaze of wildflowers quickly transforms that barren, desolate wasteland into a lush garden of creamy yucca, poppies and fuchsia prickly pear blooms. After sunset, the temperature plummets and anyone about will have front row seats to the eerie symphony of the coyote and the owl. That same fiercely blue sky that later glowed with a sinking pot of gold is now the darkest of blues and alight with more stars than can be numbered, like thousands of votives at a candle light service.

Some would say the desert is too open, exposing, baring your existence to the world. They are used to leafy canopies of maple and oak, where the sound of gushing water is never far away, and the forest is populated by small woodland creatures that rustle and chirp. They haven't felt the almost tangible silence of the desert as a friend, driving you to the deepest, quietest places of your heart. They haven't experienced the miles of sunbaked desert dirt as freedom to run as far as you could run, unhampered by trees or rivers. Not that you'd want to run miles into the desert, but with that much open flatness to the horizon and beyond, you feel as though you could.

It's a peculiar place, the desert. Seemingly hostile to life, it teems with activity during the cooler night hours. Appearing unchangingly dusty and desiccated, it is transformed with the help of monsoon showers. It is unforgiving, and, like the sea, a force to be reckoned with. I don't really know why they built a city in the middle of it, entrenched in a ring of mountains. Maybe it was just a stop on the way to greener pastures in California and Oregon, but some crazy man with a vision decided to stay and build a city, one that has become a sprawling metropolitan center for agriculture, business and engineering.

A third generation Arizonan, I inherited a little of that spitfire spirit, that wild west sense of adventure and determination. My ancestors were small business owners, cowboys, and teachers who made the desert their home and built lives from its dust. There's still a trace of their indomitable spirit racing through my veins.

As a sense of place, it's a long way from the ragged mountains of Colorado or rolling hills of Virginia. It doesn't have the appeal of a sprawling historic brownstone in New York, or the cozy feel of a family farmhouse in Minnesota. The desert provides a strange kind of comfort. It's not welcoming or cozy. It's wild and unruly, more like a wild mustang than a gentle plow horse, but it's home. The smell of creosote after the rain and the yellow saguaro blooms are home. The sun that goes down blazing behind the line of mountains in the west is home. The desert is home.

Little Miss Sunshine

Dates of the up kind

2011-11-14T21:26:00.000+11:00

Tonight I was brave at work. I answered the phone. Answer the phone? You may ask. Little Miss Sunshine has no problems with talking to people. How does answering the phone take bravery?

Answering the phone in a noisy restaurant in another country is DIFFERENT! Sometimes when the phone rings and I'm standing by it, I walk away and find a table to clean so an Aussie will answer it. Cowardly. I take responsibility for that. I've answered the phone a couple times, and I haven't had any major disasters. I usually just have to ask people to repeat themselves, and take a guess at what they said their name was. I refuse to be afraid of answering the phone. There.

In other news, which this is a newsy post, so there will be news.

What's a Lorry?

Saturday last, a silver Mercedes pulled into a particular lane halfway up the hill that sits at the edge of the little town. Armed with my nothing sandwich (two pieces of bread, which happens when I don't make time to make an actual sandwich), a couple apples and a carrot, a water bottle, camera, and my thoroughly scuffed cowboy boots. After a half hour car ride in aforementioned Mercedes, we arrived at our destination, generically The Dandenong Show. But my experiences at this show were far from generic. The primary reason I went to this show was I was invited. A couple from church have several Clydesdale horses that they show, sometimes driving lorries. A lorry is the Aussie term for a light wagon. It's also the name for an 18 wheeler, but I'm not talking about those.

Things I Did at the Dandenong Show

Present awards for the Clydesdale horse show
Present awards for the cow and calf show
Drive a lorry
Ride on a lorry in the Grand Parade

It was an incredible day. I even got to practice my fair queen wave while I was in the Grand Parade. There were plenty of other things around at the show - dogs, chickens, alpacas, crafts, expensive icky fair food...

Sundays Are for Singing

Sundays are a pretty big day around here. The day starts with family worship service, then the regular service where SG and I help with music and present our weekly update, then morning tea (social time), SG usually goes to work, I come home, then she comes home and I go to work! This past Sunday was special, though, because we had the "Musical Afternoon" after the church luncheon.

Everyone brought a plate (which means potluck, you don't just bring an empty plate), and we sat and talked and drank tea, etc. When the slices and sandwiches had been exhausted, we moved into the sanctuary for some music. SG played some clarinet duets with our first host mom, and I played a little Beethoven. Our first host dad even came, who doesn't usually come to church.

Old people are so great. If you don't know any, go search hedges and highways until you find some. If you don't think they want to talk to young people, you're wrong, they're just nervous.

That First Day's a Doozy

This morning, SG and I had the pleasure of attending our dear friends, Sam and Hannah's wedding via Skype. It's so great to have technology that makes you feel like you're halfway around the world. We really missed being able to celebrate in person, but so excited for them. From there, we went to Breakfast with Bill, our Monday morning tradition with our host parents and their friend Bill. Playgroup at the farm came next, with acres of gardens, pastures, and some very nice scones. Bible study at the high school was after that, then I crashed and didn't move for an hour. I dragged myself out of bed for a cup of joe and went to work.

Pray

Please pray for our dear friend, Mr. Matthews. He has a pinched nerve in his neck and has been stuck at home in lots of pain, unable to eat anything because the pain meds are upsetting his stomach.

Pray for God to grow his church in Australia.

Heaps of love,

Little Miss Sunshine

10 Things I Learned from Being a Waitress

2011-11-13T22:36:00.000+11:00

1. Details can make or break a night - out of cake but have a birthday? Just stick a candle down a straw in a slushy.

2. Customer service matters - if people wanted just food, they'd have gotten fast food or takeout.

3. Some people have bad days and take it out on waitresses - maybe they just lost their job, don't let it get to you and give them the best service you can.

4. Find the best person at your job and study them - I want to be like Lana and Mercy because they work hard, quick, and smart. They always seem like they're in command of a situation without being bossy.

5. Just because you have seniority doesn't mean you're any good at what you do.

6. Watch the person from #5 and figure out how in the world they still have their job.

7. Being a ninja makes carrying plates and dodging people and children underfoot easier.

8. Scrape plates well for the dishies and respect the kitchen, they may make you chocolate nachos - thanks, Ellie!

9. Treat all customers like they're the Queen, they might turn into regulars.

10. Work like your pants are on fire, but never be too busy to help a customer - it's tempting to get too busy and look it. Don't.

Another busy day at the restaurant, check. Learning lots of life lessons about treating people well.

Much love,

LMS, who will be home in 32 days!

In Favor of Nationalism

2011-11-12T07:46:00.000+11:00

Red, white and blue. Bald Eagles. Parades. Bigotry. Ethnocentrism. Hubris. Rednecks. Whatever it is that you think of when you think of America, it's yours.

"When in the course of human events" is yours.

"...in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity" is yours.

"Give me liberty or give me death" is yours.

"We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal and are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights" is yours.

"I have a dream" is yours.

The ugly scars of the Civil War are yours, internment camps for Asian Americans, broken contracts with the Native Americans, a national debt in the trillions, and a reputation of ignorance are yours.

In an age where the world has shrunk, bringing cultures hurtling towards each other in globalization, nationalism is viewed as a silly trapping of antiquity. Business is international and foreign affairs are no longer relegated to arranging a marriage to the crown prince of the Holy Roman Empire or conquering your neighbors. International travel has become a hobby.

Those who would beam wearing a badge of political correctness would say taking pride in one's country is narrow minded, that we should be much more open to diversity and other cultures. What great things has America done, anyway? The would scoff. They've poked their nose in everyone's business, they're consumed with greedy capitalism, and beyond that they're conceited about being Americans. They would sneer. We are global citizens. Nationalism is only an obstacle to progress. They would coo.

Well, I think they're wrong.

Before you get worked up, listen to what I'm not saying. I'm not saying we oughtn't teach children about other cultures, or that we shouldn't make people of other cultures feel welcome in our country. (Isn't that how we were founded, after all?) I'm not saying we'd be better off going our own way, forget global cooperation and commerce. There, now, calm down.

I am arguing in favor of a hearty helping of nationalism. I think that you - whether you are from Australia, America, Morocco or Ireland, should love that country. Oh, citizen of whatever country, love her truly and dearly. There is no need to be convinced that she is the best nation in all the world, a shining nation with no flaws. She need only be your favorite. There is no need to hate the rest of mankind and their nations, but bear your own title with determination. Love your nation when she is wrong, for who else will put her to rights, if not those who love her deeply? Love your nation when she is right, for who should celebrate more happily? In an era of global this and that, have we also done away with a need for roots and a sense of place? I think not even the most advanced engineering could do that for (to) us.

And so, on this Remembrance Day in Australia, where red poppies are pinned to lapels and shirt fronts, and the banners read "lest we forget", love your country, whoever she may be.

Little Miss Sunshine

Confession 36

2011-11-10T18:05:00.000+11:00

Confession 36.

I have hardly an ounce of temperance in my body.

The longer I live, the more thoroughly I become acquainted with this natural deficiency. I confessed this to some friends the other night, and they just laughed and nodded. I'm not talking about drinking too much alcohol here or temperance movements or any of that. I'm talking about plain old moderation.

Is the no middle ground? Am I not a balanced human being? I used to think so, as my dad would often say I had a good head on my shoulders. I wouldn't consider myself moody or flighty per se, the oscillations make their appearances in different ways.

I'm either running pell mell flying down the hill, or sitting lazily on my bed not wanting to move. It's like my body has two settings - fast and furious or sluggish and sedentary. I gulp my water a whole litre at a time, then wait hours between drinks. In my mind it saves time and space in my shoulder bag if I just fit a whole water bottle down my gullet instead. Either I'm being a laid back hippie who lives life on the spur of the moment, or I'm the most annoying Type A planner you ever met in your life.

I either want to make the decisions, or just be told what to do. Just make me the top and give me some free reign (or rein if you're of a western mind) or give me good instructions and I'll set to work. When I'm working, I usually have two approaches - work ahead or race pace. The work ahead approach helps clear up time for gadding about spontaneously, and it means I've finished an assignment weeks in advance far before it's necessary to start thinking about it. This is the approach I'm using right now for job searches. I've already started looking for next fall. It's an exciting project, so I started far before anyone ought to be thinking about a job next August. The other approach I take to getting things done is race pace. This is along the lines of flying pell mell helter skelter hoping you don't hit any speed bumps or else you're dead. This happens when I underestimate the amount of time a project will take and overestimate my ability to do it. Thankfully, I've had only a small number of speed bumps, and just a good collection of late nights and early mornings. Children's Literature task cards…? Mmm.

It's clean or dirty. I'm in the mud up to my knees with slime in my hair and all manner of grossness on my face, or I want to stay far away from the mud and muck to keep my shoes nice. Either commit and be messy, or find a gentleman with a cape to lay across a puddle. In the same vein, I feel similarly about rain. Non-committal rain drives me mad. None of this spitting now and then business. Either commit to rain, and pour with all your might and muscle, or stay dry and give me the sun. I tell the sky this often.

Even in travel I see a bit of this bent. On the right hand, I think, why not pick a place, live there, buy a cow, plant an orchard, and put down some roots in the community. Be one of those 1940s sort of people who live in a place for a very long time, raise their kids there, know their neighbors and see things through feast and famine. But then on the left hand, I think, this travel thing is a pretty good gig. You should just travel in your spare time, visit friends around the country, see the world, make that your hobby. [You can't have a cow and travel in all your spare time.]

Husbands fall under this intemperance as well. Either I want one RIGHT NOW, or I can't be bothered with love or men, and I'll be the aunt who takes her nieces and nephews on holidays. I guess you could say waiting isn't one of my natural virtues. Emotions can't escape this curse either. I may feel a thing so acutely I fear my heart will crack and crumble, or burst with swelling. Every blade of grass is an exquisite masterpiece and every line of poetry fit to make you cry. I may feel absolutely nothing and getting water from a rock would be a more hopeful prospect than getting an ounce of emotion out of my heart.

Well, there you have it. I am intemperate. This shall not always be, as I imagine time wears off rough edges, and sanctification is a great catalyst in the project. Until then, poor SG and the rest of my compatriots will have to endure.

Yours truly,

LMS

Green Acres is the place to be, farm living is the life for me...

2011-11-10T17:59:00.000+11:00

I could sing the theme song with all it's faux Hollywood twang. Most of you probably wouldn't know about Green Acres, a show I caught on the second time around. It's about a couple who leaves New York City for the pleasures and ridiculous escapades of farm life. Tuesday, I was reminded how dearly I love farm life. But that's not half of the adventure…

Monday, after playgroup, we jumped in a Subaru (wo)manned by a howeveroldshewas retired school teacher and principal. Her name was Leslie and she is the best traveled person I've met to date. Among her list are Bhutan, Japan, China, Russia, Zimbabwe, Iceland, Canada, USA, Greece, Scotland, New Guinea, the list goes on… Never married, she spent her life teaching kindergarten and later, traveling. She has a holiday house on Phillip Island, which is an island southeast of Melbourne. It's used by her nieces and nephews and all of their kids, and she wanted to take us.

My island experience has been almost exclusively confined to what could be classified as tropical islands. Philip Island broke the trend. It's covered with paddocks (Australian for pastures or fields) which are in turn covered with cows or sheep. Our first stop was Surfer's Beach, near Woolamai. Talk about some pristine beaches. Wowza. It was beautiful. Next we stopped at the house and ate some sandwiches before piling in the car again and heading off to the Koala Conservation Center, where we made Jeff Corwin and Crocodile Hunter inspired videos. We also saw some wallabies and a kookaburra.

Back into the car and off to the Nobbies, a gorgeous set of rocky cliffs/formations on the west end of the island. There were rolling hills covered with tall grasses, tumbling down into jagged cliffs right into a sapphire sea. The banks were swathed in a pink succulent and speckled with sea gull nests. I felt like I was at the white cliffs of Dover, except that these weren't white. I just didn't expect Australia to look like this. It's a contender for the most beautiful place I have ever seen.

Fun fact, Phillip Island is home to only one species of snake, the copperhead, which has no specific antivenom. And WE SAW ONE! We drove over it in the car. I don't know if we actually hit it, but it was wriggling across the road when I looked back. It was long and horrid.

Having (again) been worn out by an old person, we stumbled into bed when we returned to the house that afternoon. We revived ourselves for a quick dinner and were off again!

We waited with great anticipation. Hundreds gathered, donning hats and coats for the occasion. The sun set, and they came. I'm not referring to Santa and his elves, or aliens and their spaceship. I'm talking about the Penguin Parade! We descended the boardwalk to the ocean's edge and garnered 5th row seats on the beach bleachers. After much waiting, the penguin parents coasted in to the beach, gathering in groups called rafts to cross the beach before dispersing to their burrows among the sand dunes. We saw penguins in the WILD! God is such an amazing creator. Wow.

The next day, we went to Churchill Island. Now there's a way to spend a morning, galavanting through paddocks, and roaming over hillocks. The island is set up as a kind if historical working farm, with old homestead buildings still intact. There were towering draft horses, lots of sheep, a couple very loud peacocks, chickens, and COWS. And we got to milk a cow. Oh, friends, that is my happy place. Head leaning against the warm stomach of a cow (just like Almanzo in Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder) listening to milk hit the side of a tin pail. To top it all off, it was a Jersey, which happens to be one of my very favorite cows.

After that bit of euphoria, we romped a bit in the paddock. There weren't any signs telling us otherwise, so we just went through gates and trod the sod. There were giant lavender beds, a windmill, and barbed wire. How could anyone live in the city?? While I doubt I would ever farm for a living, I absolutely love country life.

Much love,

LMS

I'm concerned, and other news

2011-11-10T17:57:00.000+11:00

I walked through the sliding glass doors intending only to return The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-Time which is a well told story, but is tainted by bad language. Maybe I'd look at a few magazines or page through some cookbooks. It started out innocently enough. I want to be an elementary school teacher, so I like kids' books. I walked through the shelves, and out of curiosity I checked to see if they had any Lois Lensky. They didn't, but they had L'Engle, which I've never read, to my shame. Without thinking, I plucked it off the shelf.

Next I wandered through the non-fiction section and found myself among the poetry and plays. Then I had a slim volume of selected poems by John Donne. That was quite enough, as I still had Apricot Jam and Little Women sitting on my bedside pile. Little did I know, when I checked those books out, there was another waiting for me, 606 pages worth of book waiting for me. I don't even like books that are longer than 250 pages.

I walked into the library intending to lighten my book burden by 250 pages. Instead, I added 1000. Something sounds a little fishy, which is a funny thing to say because fish aren't particularly noisy. Is it possible that academic miscreants have created a drug released when you crack open a book? I'm beginning to feel as though I have a problem, a serious addiction. Maybe I need therapy.

The other news, besides my concern about efforts by unknown persons to make me addicted to books, I bought a hat. I don't like to buy things because I don't like to spend money. Part of this is because I don't have much money to spend, but also because I'm just cheap and think money should be spent on things like 401ks and paying off college loans and, well, travel. For all of that, I do love to shop. I walked into CottonOn because it's a cute store and I hadn't been in before. I saw a hat, a slate grey trucker hat with vintagey text on the front. And I wanted it. So I walked out of the store. A couple days later, I saw a kid at playgroup wearing the hat that I almost bought but didn't. I commented to his mom and she said she got it for $2. Yes, you read correctly. So I went back today and bought myself a hat. It's kind of subdued, but it has just enough attitude that I like it. I ripped off the tags and wore it home from the store.

I'm becoming quite proficient in Australian English.

Car park - parking lot

Hozzi - hospital

Full stop - period

Nana nap /kip - little afternoon nap

Trackies - sweat pants

Moccies - moccasins

Flannies - flannel shirts

Kinder - pre school

Also, I come home in 5 weeks from today! SG and I are so excited. We love it here in Australia, but there's no place like home.

Little Miss Sunshine

Afternoon at the Beach

2011-11-05T16:03:00.000+11:00

Joan, my host mom, drops me off at the upper end of the trail that leads to the beach. She is off to visit a friend who has been ill and is bringing cheering up flowers from the garden - iris, rhododendron, and a solitary hydrangea. Down the trail I go in my Chacos with the sky blue straps. Joan runs through the beach checklist before I leave. Towel? Hat? Water? Fruit? These Aussies are serious about their sun protection. Of course, I pack a few things that were on my list but not on Joan's, like sunscreen, Bible, notebook, A Wrinkle in Time, and $5 in coins.

I squeeze some lemon juice into my hand over the sink and run my fingers through my hair before we walk out the door and climb into the silver Mercedes. I tell Joan it's to blonde up my hair. She laughs.

I make my way down to the sand, where I wriggle out of my Chacos with the sky blue straps and undertake the burning of the soles of my feet. It's a necessary part of summer on the beach, I tell myself, a practical rite of passage. I grimace and finally reach the water.

The beach is crowded today. Sailboats, speedboats and jet skis weave through the water in what appear from the beach to be harrowing near-disasters. There are clusters of people, most of them young, standing in the shallows splashing each other, and throwing footballs that whistle when you throw them. The young families stake their claim at the water's edge, mothers making sure Aussie Jr. has his sun hat on and fathers playing catch. The deserted ruins of sandcastles are scattered along the shore.

Umbrellas populate the landscape, as well as beach boxes, which offer a more substantial escape from the sun. To my right, some guys are trying to push their full sized speed boat up on the beach. They've given up now and are trying another tactic. Good looking beach boys are a nuisance in the same way sharply dressed guys are. You know nothing about their theology, what they think about Margaret Sanger, or whether they like sweet pickles. All you know is they're terribly good looking in swim trunks, which is not helpful information in the least.

I extract my towel from my beach bag, and dig out my notebook and pen and begin a blogpost.

Joan, my host mom, drops me off at the upper end of the trail that leads to the beach...

Much love,
LMS

This is a shameless plug.

2011-11-04T17:31:00.000+11:00

This is a shameless plug. I entered a writing contest on Reader's Digest and I need votes. Don't vote if you don't think it's any good, only if you think it warrants attention.

http://apps.facebook.com/yourlifecontest/content/memory-forgetting

Thanks!

LMS

IT'S A KOALA!

2011-11-02T07:31:00.001+11:00

They really do exist! I saw one today! If you're looking for an antecedent to those orphan pronouns, let me tell you, it's KOALA! Today, SG and I had the pleasure of being taken by our adopted grandparents, the Matthews, to Healesville Sanctuary. Boy, they take good care of us. They picked us up this morning and the sunkist hour of 8:30, which today was not so sunkist. We didn't really know what to expect, but just driving there was a pleasure, as the land around Healesville is rolling farmland filled with vineyards and paddocks of sheep.

When we arrived, we realized we were about to walk into the Australian version of the zoo. By Australian version, what I mean is the section of the zoo that showcases local animals. There's a Texas wildlife section at the Ft. Worth Zoo, and an Arizona desert section of the Phoenix Zoo, etc. Well, this animal park housed animals from the whole of Australia, which is a very big place with lots of climates. We saw kangaroos, wallabies (basically a small version of the kangaroo), wombats, skinks and emus!

We walked through the reptile house and I realized that Australia is home to the ten deadliest snakes in the world, including one that is 7 times more poisonous than a cobra. HELLO, WHAT WAS I THINKING!? The reptile man was giving a talk about what else but reptiles in Australia. He pulled out a frilled neck lizard (remember Rescuers Down Under) and some other lizardy things before he picked up the goana that had been pacing and prowling in the fenced in area where he was standing. Fact: the name goana is a corruption of the word iguana because explorers thought they were similar to the iguanas found in South America! After the large and writhing goana, who is related to the deadly Kimodo Dragon of Indonesia, he pulled out a python. Ick ick ick ick. And I touched it, after a dare-like challenge from Mr. Matthews. (Refer to a post entitled "Confession 27".)

On the walking loop, there was an animal hospital where they had exhibits on animal surgery, disease diagnosis, baby animals, and what happen a few years ago when the wildfires became so serious that they moved 200 animals to the Melbourne Zoo!

During the day there were different shows or talks given by staff members like the reptile man. Another one we got to see was the bird show. It was SO COOL! They had Galas and Cockatoos and Rosellas and hawks and a Wedge-Tailed Eagle and lots of other beautiful birds that I don’t remember. It was in an open air amphitheater and the birds came flying in and caught pieces of food or landed on the speaker's arm, but never flew away. There was even a parrot that talked into the microphone and did tricks! I loved that they were so well-trained, but I also love that these birds are ones that I see around town. I've seen Rosellas on my runs along the beach, and I've seen Lorrikeets in our backyard! I don't live in a pet store, but there are parrots.

And and and and…. I SAW A PLATYPUS! I, Little Miss Sunshine, think platypi are so cool. That is such a linguistically poor phrase, but you know what I mean. There were two of them swimming around in the water in an exhibit, although there are some just living around the sanctuary too. The platypi were smaller than what I had pictured, which was something more beaver-like.

We also had to start our day with morning tea, which Mrs. M had packed in a thermos, with sugar and coffee and tea and milk and everything. Halfway through the day, we stopped for a lunch out of the boot of the car, and before we left we had our afternoon coffee. By the end of the day, SG and I were knackered (read: tired), but Mr. and Mrs. M were still fired up and ready for another adventure or five. They're amazing.

So if you want to know anything about echidnas or ibises or emerald dove, let me know. I might not know the answer, but I'll give you my best shot.

Sorely knackered,

Little Miss Sunshine

About being a pirate, and the allure of Mr. Knightley

2011-11-02T07:29:00.001+11:00

[I'll warn you, I have recently finished Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton, which is brilliant, am reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, and finished watching the last scenes of Emma not twenty minutes ago, so this post may have a Paton/Haddon/Austen sound to it.]

Sometimes I think I should like to be a shepherdess or a pirate or maybe a farmer's wife.

For starters, I just like the word shepherdess. It goes in my file of great words that mean you're the girl version of something, like duchess, empress, princess, baroness, etc. Think of all the things you can get away with as a shepherdess. There's going barefoot and carrying a tall staff with a sprig of wildflowers at the top like Zipporah on Prince of Egypt. There's having fabulous long hair and singing to your sheep and being outside and possibly having a very intelligent and well-behaved dog. There's lots of time for thinking and reading great books, but there's also things like baby lambs and green pastures and feeling brave protecting your sheep from sinister predators. Nevermind that it also means the smell of sheep and running after the one, when the ninety-nine are placidly munching their morning grass.

Or how about being a pirate? I don't mean, of course, modern icky pirates who hold shipping cargo hostage and have no eye patches. I'm talking about wooden ships with billowing sails and crow's nests and things. If you're a pirate, you probably get to be barefoot too, if you're careful about splinters. Don't forget big golden earrings and bandanas and flowy cutoff pants, and you could have short cute piratey hair or a long braid of piratey hair. You'd get to visit islands and go swimming and eat tropical fruit. You might even be able to keep a chicken instead of a parrot. Chickens are much more practical, but I don't know if they like ships. Nevermind being seasick or import taxes or mutinies.

Farmers' wives may not be considered among the usual romanticized occupations, but I think it sounds nice. All kinds of great things happen to farmers' wives. They get to spend lots of time in the kitchen doing things like making apple sauce and cherry pie and loaves of bread. Usually there are half a dozen children running around getting into trouble. Chickens and horses and a nice obedient dog and if you're lucky a Jersey cow live on farms. Farmhouses have quilts and long wooden tables and fireplaces to hang stockings at Christmas. There are tulips in the spring, geraniums in the summer and pansies in the fall on farms. Nevermind that farming borrows your husband from sunup to sundown, irrespective of Christmas or anniversaries because cows must be milked, and horses must be fed, and there's no getting around that.

As for Mr. Knightley, who is wholly unrelated to the preceding paragraphs, except that he's also wonderful to think about, he makes me sigh great floaty sighs. It has taken SG and I three days to finish Emma (the one with Gwyneth Paltrow, who is so beautiful but probably has the longest neck I've ever seen except an assistant dance teacher I had once…). Romantic comedies are alright sometimes, but I much prefer old romances. Their greatness owes itself to their witty dialogue and intricacy of plot. I haven't read the book, but seeing the movie makes me want to because Gwyneth Paltrow plays such a meddlesome and sometimes ridiculous heroine, that I wonder if the character isn't misrepresented from Jane Austen's original intentions. She redeems herself in the end, but it takes some doing.

But Mr. Knightley. Oh. Mr. Knightley. He hasn't Mr. Darcy's introverted brooding, nor Mr. Bingley's jovial good humor. He's… even now I can't fit him into one word. He's considerate and honest and admirable and discerning and he is why I don't watch romances with regularity. I get all floaty and sigh and smile dreamily. Then I remember I have schoolwork to do and paperwork and things like budget balancing… because that's what grownups do and I jolly well don't want to fail at being a grownup. Failure is terrifying, although it's a perfect opportunity for resilience which is kind of my word of the year, along with buoyancy.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine, who fears she missed her era by a century and a half or so.

A Comedy of Errors

2011-10-31T11:14:00.000+11:00

Me working behind the bar is what you call a comedy of errors. I can dry wine glasses and slice limes with the best of them. Ask me for a CC and Coke? Oh dear. A customer asked me for a CC and Coke last night, and I had to ask him about four times what he was talking about. He finally just pointed to the shelf. *Sigh* But he was very nice about it, so it wasn't a bad thing. Needless to say, on busy bar nights, I avoid the bar at all costs. I'll scrape melted cheese off of a table and bring out steaming enchiladas, but don't ask me to make a fishbowl Red Russian. I don't know what that is.

Maybe I should get on Wikipedia and just read about drinks for a while.

Sometimes it's not just that I don't know how to make a vodka lime and soda, it's that I don't know what they're saying. Like the time a customer asked for a moiluh. I wrote it down phonetically on my notepad and asked the boss for a moiluh. He didn't know what that was, so I had to go back and ask him to spell it! Oh, agony of language! What he was trying to order was a MERLOT.

Even if it's not alcohol, sometimes it gets confusing. When someone asks for a pot of Coke, what do you give them? I gave them a litre, but they actually wanted a glass. If it weren't for the emotional relief of laughter, I'd be one defeated waitress.

Being a waitress is an adventure in daring for me. Sometimes people get cranky or you make mistakes with their orders or they're just weird. But, by golly, they're the customer and you've got to do something about it. They may give you tips, they may swear at you, but either way, you've got to sail on a wind of optimism and perseverance. Courtesy and calm at every turn. It's like what they say about ducks… calm on the top of the water, paddling like mad underneath.

Last night was fun, as it is horse racing season and these people love their horse races. There were HATS! And heels and dresses, which are not uncommon, but HATS! Fabulous hats draped in tulle and feathers and rhinestones! And men in suit jackets and ties! Sometimes I despise young men in suits and ties.. They're so darn distracting. Haha. There was a young curly headed bloke last night who came to the bar while I had the misfortune of being stranded there. I don't remember what he ordered, but he was convinced we'd met before. He asked where he would have seen me… I suggested the names of two churches and reduced him to bewilderment. Linguistically disarmed. Ha. Poor kid. I don't think that's what he was expecting.

Ever adventuring,

Little Miss Sunshine

I Just Love Going to Church

2011-10-30T17:27:00.000+11:00

This morning, SG and I were in charge. Our wonderful overseers, the Matthews, are on holiday for the weekend. They need it, as it seems they are in charge of so many details. Sadly, only two families came to our all age service (basically Sunday School). What's a girl to do when people don't get it? When church isn't a priority and being a part of worship and good teaching doesn't seem to matter? Be so utterly aflame that they can't help but catch fire with the Love that drives us?

I had just met with a disappointment and then a reprimand, and my morning was not looking up. Then Pastor John said to pass the peace. (For my friends in the South, read: hand shakin time). That's when the light turned on. I talked to the lovely and vivacious at 93 Ilma, and her friend Rami, lovely Allistair the Scot, George the smiler and Ian the precious. This wasn't about me. What were my worries compared to God's love for these people and their love for Him expressed in a love for us?

Sometimes I look at them and think, where is there passion for church? They just sit in their pews and sing like they've been doing for 60 years! But then Alex, who has years unnumbered, stands and talks about what they're doing for the civil rights movement with the Aboriginal people and how they're going to the capital. And Ian, who was born in Kenya, and went to boarding school in Scotland and flew fighter planes in WWII is so full of the praise of God and what He's doing and His faithfulness. Then I see that dispassion was mistaken for a steady and courageous faith, tried by so many years of life.

Oh, they're so wonderful. Doing ministry is not easy, but people like George and Ian can make it doable.

Little Miss Sunshine

Dinner, Party of Five

2011-10-30T17:24:00.001+11:00

The phrase "dinner party" for me evokes images of the 1950s, roasts and martinis, which is funny because that is certainly not the kind of dinner parties I throw. The first one I ever hosted was in 2005. I was a junior in high school and my friend Jen and I wanted to throw a dinner party for our volleyball team. So we did. Plenty of mistakes and successes later, I still love them. There's a little more room for the fancy and formal but without the need to be stuffy and dreadful. When I'm hosting a dinner party, I always feel so posh and polished, unless I'm burning French bread or we run out of ice… It's probably just a silly piece of pride, playing hostess, but maybe at least the guests feel at ease and eat well.

Last night, Sarah and I hosted our first Australian dinner party. Place cards were simple, done with Sarah's handwriting font. The menu needed to be both gluten free and vegetarian and was a smashing success, with room for improvement (always).

Pumpkin Soup

3/4 of a Kent pumpkin

2 small potatoes

1 onion

3/4 litre chicken broth

Roast the veggies, puree them in a food processor, stream in the broth, season to taste and poof, you have soup.

Warm Salad

Red onion

Zucchini

Red bell pepper

Spinach

Feta

Saute the first three ingredients, add the spinach until it wilts, finish with some feta on top.

Strawberry Parfaits

Diced strawberries that have sat in a sprinkle of sugar

Macaroons

Whipped cream

Layer strawberries, cream and crushed macaroons. Serve in teacups.

Three of our Aussie friends came and brightened the house with their laughter. We yarned for several hours about movies, food, and friends. It's no good being a place without friends. We are so thankful for them!

Little Miss Sunshine

Confession 27

2011-10-28T15:55:00.001+11:00

Confession #27.

I am rendered nearly as helpless as a newborn kitten when it comes to dares.

I am independent, confident, blah blah blah whatever, but my dare immunity is almost nil. Maybe this stems from my desire to please people, or maybe it's just a part of being competitive. Either way, I love surprising people. Turning their faces from a placid smile to a gaping hole and two saucers is great fun. My parents deserve your sympathy, as they are often (still) peppered with what-if questions….

What if I got a tattoo?

What if I shaved my head?

What if I got dreads?

What if I became a pirate? Or a plumber?

It's not that I'm trying to be annoying, I just have a fondness for hypotheticals. And don't think I don't take them seriously. The latest was regarding dread locks… After sorting out the pros and cons, it's a no go for right now. The primary trouble is the length of my hair. I've been growing it out for quite some time, and if I did dreads now, I'd have to cut it short and lose all that hard earned progress. But this post is not about my hair.

There's something about dares. I think it's the same sort of thing that's in fire. It holds your gaze and takes hold of your inner reckless self. [So is a reckful person someone who's cautious??] Maybe it's just a desire to be daring. If you want to be daring, you should take dares? Liz always says to do a daring thing every day. That's a lot of daring things if you ask me.

Like when I was at that bonfire and the boys found a grub under a log. A royally grubby grub, huge, white, fat, nasty thing. Of course, the logical thing to do would be to dare someone to eat it. So they did. And I answered the call and won $5. Then there was always the trivial Truth or Dare stuff, kissing dumpsters and things. Then there was the time we used hand sanitizer to light our hands on fire… *Disclaimer: Little Miss Sunshine is not endorsing this.* And the time I ate cow tongue, and termites and fish milkshake.

The friends at school figured out my Achilles heel and sometimes used it to their advantage. Mark and Hannah in particular were adept at getting me on the bandwagon for a late night Tbell run using dares. Chris and Jake just started saying we'd never see each other after college, so we should hang out. That worked too. Unfortunately, the Aussie crew already knows I am without immunity when it comes to dares and competition. I don't know how I slipped that to Chezie, but I did, and the boys are convinced they'll have me jumping off the highest cliffs because I can't say no to a dare.

Fortunately, for my own well-being, there's a caveat to this weakness. If you think you're going to have me robbing banks or cutting my arm off, think again. The dare appeal stops at being illegal or stupid. I have few inhibitions, but thankfully, those are two of them. I would cut my arm off for a good cause though…

I'll leave Confession 28 for another day.

Little Miss Sunshine

Some Assembly Required

2011-10-28T15:54:00.000+11:00

I think I've come down with craft fever. Looking around sites like Pinterest or How About Orange or etsy, people are doing so many fun crafty things! I makes me want to sketch portraits and bake spinach parmesan scones and design aprons! The ideas are everywhere. It's like a craft revolution or something. People are saying, what if and being creative and doing things. They're making jewelry and note cards and dresses, and often they're doing it out of old stuff.

There's a part of me that says, what's the point, who needs to salvage an old window frame and turn it into wall art? You could be learning another language or making money or reading. But another part wonders if part of being human is working with your hands. If part of being made in God's image means we can see the future of what could be and we have the creative power to make it happen.

Some might argue that they aren't creative. I would argue back. You were made by the God who invented seahorses and diamonds. Just because you can't quilt doesn't mean you aren't creative. That's like saying just because you can't play hockey, you aren't an athlete at all. Absurdity.

We aren't cold, calculating robots who just need food and water to survive. Texture and color and form are part of who we are, whether that's expressed in building tables out of doors or training a rosebush up a trellis. Things like that take time and thought. I can't just sit down and make a skirt. Fabric, length, pattern, and threading a needle all come first. From a practical aspect, crafting is troublesome, but again, I think it's a vital part of our humanity. There's a connection made with all the crafters who have ever been, and a reflection of the original Crafter who formed us with his own hands.

How will this itch to craft express itself? Let me tell you, we've had the recent good fortune of being involved with the beginning of a Christian girls group at the high school, and they want to study God's Word and craft! Today we threw around the idea of making aprons, which are so in vogue right now. I love them because they're easy to make and I'm a messy cook. I will keep you updated with what I do with this crafty fever. I might sketch a few portraits (faces are not my strength) and write character sketches about people in my life for this blog.

Go make disciples and crafty things!

Little Miss Sunshine

A Little Regress Is Good for the Soul

2011-10-27T15:07:00.001+11:00

Let's enter into a conversation about the effects of multiculturalism on our collective social experience. We'll celebrate diversity in its many forms and dialogue about ways of seeing and ways of knowing that might be new to some of us. Reaffirming our dedication to tolerance and inclusivity, we welcome many ways of seeing the world.

Please excuse me while I vomit.

Some people may find this barrage of inaccessible ambiguity comforting and meaningful. I'm not saying you lack intelligence for doing so. It kind of has an intoxicating lullaby feel to it. Language is something that is trendy. We use words like "conversation" and "dialogue" and "collaborative", not necessarily because that's what we mean, but because that's the babble of the moment.

I stand in favor of a little regress.

For one, all this flowery verbiage. Is it saying anything, or is it simply drawing a gauzy curtain around a charlatan wizard? I thought words were for unveiling ideas, clarifying, and slicing off bits of philosophical gristle. That string of unintelligible babble seems to either be an eloquent attempt at saying nothing or a cunning way of wrapping crap up in a box and bow. When I hear things like "spiritual community" and "dialogue", I want to break something, preferably glass so that it's loud and emphatic. I realize that's an immature response to frustration, so I turn instead to blogging. But I digress from articulating my desire to regress… [lame language pun]

By desiring a bit of regress, what I mean to say is I'm after a true kind of progress. Just trying to come up with the latest and greatest after the last has past is not progress. In my understanding, true progress takes into account the whole of history in its evaluation of the world. What did Bacon and Plato and Hippocrites have to say? What about Sartre, Kirkegaard and Hume? Were they right? Were they wrong? What did Churchill do right and Prince Vlad do wrong?

No longer do we await word from messengers atop light footed horses. Thanks to the industrial and technological revolutions, the world is at our fingertips. Globalization has become a reality, and the price of peanut butter in Alabama may indeed affect the price of tea in China. We can buy, eat, travel more than ever before. Thanks to the industrial and technological revolutions, we may more easily than ever before become stimuli gluttons. We have the choice of twenty kinds of mascara and a hundred cereals. We like the word option.

How do we best make use of living in a time in history where information and resources are more accessible than ever before? How do we own our iLives instead of letting our iLives own us? I think the answer lies between your ears and at the ends of your wrists and next to your sternum. I think there is value in using your head and hands and heart to live. I don't mean everyone needs to quit corporate life and build a log cabin and plant a garden. There's not enough space. What I do mean is don't let the euphoria of technology and linguistic poppycock dull your senses. Letting the number of apps on your phone deceive you into believing you are well educated. Reading blogs about people who help people instead of actually helping people yourself. Scrolling through Pinterest instead of making your own darn hairpins. Don't settle for an technologically advanced and audiovisually enhanced façade. It's still a façade.

Love from Australia,

Little Miss Sunshine, who just finished A Grief Observed and is convinced Lewis is the most brilliant non-Biblical author she's ever read.

A Some Day Jar

2011-10-25T22:28:00.000+11:00

I used to think the only people who would move overseas for a year were people who were really adventurous or really committed to their faith. While I would say I meet both of those criteria, it always seemed like the people going for a year were at a level above and beyond me. Maybe I could do that. Some day. Some day was August 12, 2011.

Sometimes I think, when I grow up I want to be a great teacher, have a disarming smile, be athletic, be outdoorsy and adventurous, be a great hostess, be tall and slender, be a great writer…. the list goes on and on. All of these things I hold captive in a some day jar. I'm not talking about a bucket list of expensive and exotic places to see or experiences to have. I'm talking about a some day jar.

Some day I want to get serious about my faith…

Some day I want to get around to talking with my parents about growing up when they did…

Some day I want to be compassionate…

When is your some day? When are you finally going to carpe that diem? Being a great teacher takes today and tomorrow and moment after moment of faithfulness to the task. Being a great writer takes thousands and thousands of words and hours spent carefully choosing, rearranging, deleting. Maybe you'll realize, as I did, that moving to Australia for a year was just the next step in life. It was no longer an out of reach, out of the realm of possibility, crazy idea. I was ready. It's just going from training wheels to keeping your balance. It's not easy, but it is simple.

I think I'm going to unscrew the lid of my some day jar. Living life to the fullest means living today to the fullest. It means turning a some day jar into a today jar. It's a transition in thinking from "I want to care about people more" to writing that note of encouragement today. We have been given today. Tomorrow exists only as a hypothetical.

Little Miss Sunshine

Puzzle Pieces

2011-10-25T22:21:00.000+11:00

OH! That green speckled piece isn't the leaves of the tree, it's a part of the reflection of the pond! Suddenly the piece slips into place with that satisfying cardboard on cardboard thump. I love puzzles. Sometimes at my house we do puzzles at Christmas. This probably started as a holiday tradition in more northern climes where it would be silly to play outside in a blizzard. People sat around and tried to stay warm together doing puzzles. Where I'm from, you're more likely to see a camel giving birth in a sandstorm than see a blizzard. Weather aside, it's a fun way to pass the time and go crosseyed frustrated searching for that ONE piece.

It takes a while to befriend a puzzle. I'm far from the puzzle whisperer, but I have learned some tricks of the trade. At the beginning, the relationship is mostly chaos. You don't understand each other, things are scattered, there are no parameters. Slowly, you start to get to know the color spectrum in the puzzle and the lines the artist used. You figure out what is "tree green" and what is "pond reflection green". Things snap into place as you connect the edges and piece together objects within the picture.

The longer I'm in Australia, the more I discover about God's huge puzzle and the part we are playing in it. What started out as a random suggestion from a campus ministries director turned into a serious consideration, an application, a plane ticket and a visa. My own holes and knobs are fitting into the knobs and holes of this adventure and its people.

Things we didn't know coming into this internship are turning out to be so perfectly ordained. Our great caretakers, the Matthews, are going to be taking some time off because Mr. will be starting radiation therapy in a few weeks. [Something worth spending time on your knees for.] We've had enough time to learn the ropes and take on some of their responsibilities as they step back. The friends we've made are an adventurous lot, much to my delight [cliffjumping, anyone?] and also passionate about Jesus-centered priorities, which is both convicting and encouraging.

Small things like loving Mexican food, being in good enough health to walk everywhere, and not being a picky eater are fitting right into the situation. Experiences like helping with kids summer programs at church and staffing at Summit and Compass have given me experience with successful programs that put Christ first. Even things like lesson planning as an education student and being culturally sensitive in North Africa this summer as we're planning activities in a nation that is not our own.

It's like Dad's dinner prayer - Thank You for providing all of our needs and many of our wants.

Thankful for her Jehovah Jireh Provider,

Little Miss Sunshine

The story of a right wing, meat eating, gun swinging conservative...

2011-10-23T15:51:00.000+11:00

If you asked me to give you a personal social/political profile, I'd tell you I'm a right wing, grassroots, get your hands off my business and stop freaking out about global warming conservative. I think eating meat is OK, and I come from a family who has served in the armed forces.

Then I came to Australia, where most people think in America, people get murdered all the time and people solve their problems by shooting things. In Australia, people have "half-flush" options on their toilets and recycle bins that are bigger than trash bins. Their country is still under the authority of the British Commonwealth, though the Queen of England doesn't do much but visit occasionally and smile from her place on Australian currency.

Thursday night, we gathered with friends to play games, eat dinner and yak about everything from YouTube to international travel to Jesus and war. The pacifism conversation came up, and I told them I wasn't in the pacifist camp. They were kindly appalled. We fleshed it out a little, pulling references from the Old Testament and creating hypothetical scenarios under which violent action would be OK. What about Nazi Germany? What if someone was beating up a child? What if an intruder broke into your house? I told them if I had to pick a side, I would be pro-action, but I have reservations about both sides. Do something violent or do nothing at all. Winning options all around.

Last night, SG and I went to a barbie as a post-camp celebration. I borrowed SG's reusable grocery bag, put on my Chacos and skipped (literally) down the hill to the store where I bought vegetables. Someone call the doctors, Sunshine's starting to sound like a hippie. I was feeling pretty green, let me tell you. I wasn't sure if that was a good feeling or not. I think conservatives, unfortunately, often avoid being environmentally conscious because it means agreeing with liberals. I'll let you in on a little secret: just because you agree with liberals on taking care of the earth God put us on doesn't mean you have to agree with them on everything.

As I thought about it, it made sense in my economically wired brain.

I was walking - not spending money on gas for the car or putting mileage on the car, also investing in my health and lowering potential doctor's bills.

I took my own bag - no one likes dumps/tips/landfills, and I sure don't want my kids to grow up in a place where they take up most of the landscape.

I bought vegetables - SG and I like good food, and good veggies are just cheaper than good meat, another investment in health and lowering the potential doctor's bills.

So sure, I still eat meat sometimes, and I still feel proud of the way my family and others have served to protect our country, I would even probably buy a gun. What I am learning is, the unexamined life is not worth living (you'll have to thank a Greek for that pithy proverb). Just because I'd say I'm a Republican doesn't mean everything Republicans believe is aligned with the Gospel and everything Democrats believe is a lie. I'm even friends with some of those left-leaning people! They're fun! If what you believe is right, it should hold up to testing. If it doesn't, don't waste your time with ideas that don't hold water. Don't be afraid to examine and reconsider, refer to the previous sentence.

Love and politics,

Little Miss Sunshine