"In the Kingdom of the blind, the One-eyed is King."

I'd never heard that maxim before last week. It's haunted me ever since. Probably because of a lot of "stuff" happening in my personal life and my "church" life. For instance, I had a conversation with an acquaintance the other night, and it got me thinking about self-perceptions and how easily we can be "blind" and settle following someone or something with only half vision because it's better than what we currently have.

I preface this conversation by saying that I have an occational habit of asking people in my life how they "see" me. I know that I'm not the "stereotypical" person that my resume of life might have made me. And, unless these folks are lying to my face, the feedback of these friends and acquaintances help me maintain a fairly accurate self-image.

The person I was talking to the other day said they see themselves as "cutting edge," too. But they base this perception solely on the fact that they listen to their children to keep current.

I echo that. I was raised believing that my parents were just totally of a different generation, and they showed very little interest in understanding what my culture beyond how it personally affected me and them. Me? I ask my kids constantly about their music, their vocabulary, what I see and hear from them and their friends.

But what my "friend" failed to realize is that listening to their children only gives them one piece of the puzzle. Their perspectives are still seen through the lens this person has created! Whether it be the "moral" thread they weave as a family, or the traditions they celebrate, the perspective they project, etc. Our kids (at their age) still reflect a lot of what we give them.

This person's vision is limited -- similar to what our church is going through right now -- and what most churches get caught in forever. We are "the one-eyed," but it's still settling for less than total vision. In the land of the blind, we are something. But it isn't what we were called to be.

Our measure must always be the the Father. Our cultural cues come from Yeshua -- how did He interact with His society, both religious and secular. Any other model we compare ourselves to is inappropriate.

I look at some of our cultural examples. Bono. Obama. People -- powerful people -- with a huge platform from which to speak. They don't hit people over the head with a belief system (John Mayer says belief is a beautiful armor, but a heavy sword to swing), but are so solid in what they believe that it infiltrates absolutely every statement, every thought, every action. Fully submerged in their "belief" that nothing is going to toss them into irrational fear.

We need to be people to where nothing we "believe" is beyond consideration or question. But also people who are not "blown and tossed" into abrupt change by every piece of new information we receive. And we need to be never swayed by what "someone else" says, regardless of who that someone is.

Open to new thought, yes. But we need to allow new information to be considered, washing over us, seeping into the empty cracks and crevices that occur in us as we change, grow and mature. Helping make us who G-d intends us to be as we grow in Him.

By living life this way, no philosophy or "theology" can throw us into fear or doubt. We are not at the whim of the next great, charismatic speaker or author. We can easily be "in the world and not of the world." We can be doers of the Word, and not hearers only!

I want to hang on to truth. I want my life to clearly reflect "what I know." But I also don't ever want to be the person that stops growing, changing, being chiseled into the image of the One I chose to follow. I don't want to be lead by one-eyed knowledge. I want to be lead by omniscience always.

Amen.

Had an amazing experience last night.
We have these friends who, when they travel abroad (which is about 2-3 times a year) we willingly take their children in for whatever length of time they are gone. They're good kids; it's no big deal for us (four kids, seven kids, ten kids -- what's the difference?). But each time these friends return home, they like to do "something special" for us. Some years, it's been a play. Once, it was to take our kids so my husband could surprise me with a three day get-away to Florida.
This time, it was a visit to a historic old inn about 30 minutes from where each of us live. The Holly Hotel (Holly, MI) was constructed in 1870 -- only five years after the town was founded. It sits by the railway, and originally serviced travelers steaming their way across Michigan. For years it was an inn. Rumor has it that it occasionally served as a brothel. In the early '70s (that's 1970's, now) the interior burned and the place set empty -- a forgotten shell of architectural beauty.
That's when this guy named Chuck stepped in.
He bought the hotel and transformed it into this beautiful restaurant. Serving a wide variety of amazing dishes, last year the place won 6 major award categories from "The Oakland Press". Anyway, our friends began frequenting the place earlier this summer, and wanted us to experience it with them.
The Hotel is a tribute to times past. We ordered the "Chef's Special," which is an 8 course, 3 1/2 hour proposition of dining adventure and de-stressing experience. We were waited on by a young man named "Joe" who was perhaps the most talented wait staff I have ever experienced. He was a beautiful, baratoned gentleman who read customer cues so subtle I almost thought he was reading our minds. This was Joe's last Saturday night at the Hotel; he is headed to Las Vegas to seek out the next chapter of his adventure. But what a special time for us to meet and get to know him.
See, when you take 3 1/2 hours to eat a meal, "getting to know" your waiter isn't a cliche -- it's true. The food was good; the service impeccable. The atmosphere cozy and the live music a treat. But what made this dinner something I will never forget was the ability to sit at a table with two very dear friends and simply "experience" life together over a meal in a way that no one -- no one -- does any more on a regular basis.
There is an unforgiving "thing" in our lives that is so far gone, we forget we ever had it. This thing (there are probably more, but this blog is about THIS thing) is the ability to just "be." I know, we tend to relax in different ways. For most of us, relaxing means not cooking and eating over-processed "easy" food. Or watching a DVD that lets our minds simply not think for a while. Or maybe doing something active -- golfing, swimming, etc. And it's not that those things aren't relaxing and rejuvenate, too.
But sitting over a good meal, crafted for you just like you were royalty...Not even thinking about what time it was getting to be (a first for me ... I didn't ask the time once last night, and I never thought once about the "next thing on the agenda."). Bantering with a waiter like he was an old friend and leaving hoping you would "run into him" again some day. Looking at the faces of two people we met over 11 years ago and realizing these were "lifers" (people we will know until we die).
I can't even describe the "feelings" I was having last night. Again, it brought me back to G-d's desire for us to be intimately connected into relationship -- with Him, yes, but also with each other. It reminded me AGAIN that I am not to be simply surviving life ... I should be living it every moment, every day. I waste so very much of what I've been given. A "life glutton," I spend most of my time thinking how I will spend the next allotment of time ... Eating it up by consuming "junk" that is urgent ... But not truly living at all.
I went to another viewing of a friend's who died this last week. It is the second for me in so many weeks. And I questioned myself, driving home, "When I know how short it all is, why do I still just stumble through it?"
What keeps me from truly living? Lingering over good food, joking with good people, acting on the spontaneous joys that take just a life to a life worth living?
Dearest Father, make me a person who savors life. Don't let me just continue to talk about it. Don't let me reduce it to just spurts of "being a good person" who does stuff for people, and then spends most of my life sitting back and letting my life drift meaninglessly by. I don't want to be a "canoe," that goes with the flow; I want to be a "kayak" that can cut across the current of indifference, and not be afraid to just "be" with people -- no agenda, no time constraints, no peace.
May dinner with Mary, David, Bruce and Joe remind me of what life can be. "Dining," not just eating ...

Drawing lines ....

Right now, I'm sitting between my two youngest children, attempting to help them with math and spelling, while also trying to figure out how to make this blog a little more than "black and white." I have a friend urging me to go a little more public with this, and I'm hesitant, because ... I don't know. I'm just hesitatant.

Where do I draw the lines and section myself properly so that I meet all the expectations I have set up for myself?

I struggle with "the best," and realize that very rarely does anyone (including myself) get the best I have to offer, because I do not draw the lines well. Somedays, I have it all together remarkably well. I can be a good wife/mother/friend/thinker/etc. But those days are few and far between.

I know, from my friends, my problem is not unique to me. But I always figured, if I could institute the right "system" I could conquer this issue. Superwoman syndrome wasn't a problem for me, because somewhere in the sickness of my mind, I thought that was an obtainable goal.

If I were honest with myself, I really can't even blame "others" for my situation. I bring most of these expectations on myself. I have a couple of friends who ask me, "What do you want?" I even had a good "acquaintance" ask me the "If money were not object, what would you do with your life" question last night.

I told him I would write. But as I think about this, that isn't a totally honest answer. I wouldn't write instead of home schooling. I wouldn't write if it meant losing the good friends I have. I wouldn't write if it meant a substantial change in my "comfort" level right now. So, I would write as a "living" if it wouldn't significantly change my current status. And that, upon reflection, means to me I'm not "hungry" enough to want it quite yet.

I wish I had an answer to the balance thing. But right now, I've got school to finish with the kids, two dental appointments to make in 20 minutes, a meeting at work to get ready for and a committee meeting that will make me miss my favorite class. No excuses -- just disappointment that I am not really who I want to be -- yet.

Our small band of "Hebrew Hippies" celebrated our first sukkot together last night. We gathered at a friend's house to good food, a bonfire, and a blue tarp stretched between two trees, fulfilling the command that our sukka be opened to the heavens. It was, perhaps, one of the most beautiful structures I have ever seen.

Why? This simple tent, designed for us to gather together and share the provisions and blessings of God, stood as a symbol for me. A symbol of this community I have come to know and love.

The beauty of it was that there were "newbees" among us. People who have recently wandered into this fellowship, who desire to either know G-d deeper, or at least see what He is doing through our lives. The beauty was that I had the opportunity to share with people who are becoming more and more like family rather than friends. I watched passion, as we poured over Torah, or shared the heart fire of new missions and dreams G-d is birthing among us. I watched heart break as one couple struggled with a wayward child and decisions they needed to make. I watched joy, as we shared from where we have come, and to where we are going. I watched drive as we talked about how to best help a widow loosely connected to our community -- as to show her G-d and all His provisions.

I reveled in the things happening around me. Spontaneous joy and struggle mingled among people whose hearts it is to do His will, to be His people, to love as He loves, and to reflect our rabbi, Yeshua.

I am thrown prostrate before His greatness. The things I once thought unattainable are swirling around me in a way I never believed. There are days I am in constant communication with my Father in heaven.

Right now, I am watching our worship band at our church. About half of them are a part of this community I speak of. There is joy overflowing, true friendship that extends beyond the boundaries of the task they are working on. I know this is not "the end" of the journey. In fact, more often than not, there is conflict because "iron sharpens iron," and conflict is (in my mind) becoming something that strengthens people who love one another. But for just a brief moment, I am seeing how this community actually can integrate into "the church" as I know it, and make a difference.

More and more, I realize I am called to be a fragrance -- inside and outside of these four walls. I learned a long time ago that only a handful of people in the church are really "saved" -- they get the call of Yeshua and G-d and want to throw themselves wholeheartedly over to Him. I have a friend who told me that part of my job is to "teach the people inside the building how to party for G-d." As sacrilegious as that may sound, what he meant was that because of the position G-d has me in, I do have a responsibility to those inside my sphere of influence -- regardless of the physical place that might be.

So, I fall deeper and deeper in love with my "community" -- those people who walk along this path with me and hold my hand and heart. But I also am coming to understand deeper and deeper the responsibility I have to others who do not yet know of this love affair with G-d and with brothers and sisters who DO understand.

Sukkot is about provision -- G-d never leaving or forsaking His people. Providing even in the wilderness. Perhaps, part of my journey is to provide those stuck inside a "sukka" without an opening to the heavens a glimpse of just what G-d meant when He said he would be their G-d, and they His people.

Maybe. I have to think about that more.

"Slipping into easy."

Here's a phrase that has been haunting me for a day or two. It began echoing in my mind after a conversation I had with my husband. We were discussing a variety of things, not the least of which was a conference he had just returned home from. There, a lot of ideas were confirmed and ignited ... ideas that I have been challenging him with for months, but you know ... They usually have to hear it from someone else to "get it."

Anyway, I was excited, because the things we were discussing are, in some ways, revolutionary. He was sharing with me how certain people he worked with were actually beginning to "get it," too. But we both understand how easily the excitement fades and reality sets in.

I told him, "You must do everything in your power not to slip into easy."

I believe as Americans, we are constantly on a quest for "easy." Not that it's wrong in all instances (yeah, I have a dishwasher, and washing machine and ...Etc.). But when the idea of slipping into easy permeates everything we do, we begin to become a people of less substance. This mentality feeds our already overweight selfish natures, and we begins seeking out the easy answers, regardless of the toll it takes on our psyches or any other part of our being.

I feel like, in many ways, the faith I have ascribed to for most of my life has been a journey of "slipping into easy." The more I study what Yeshua said, the more I learn about the culture He came into and the ramifications of Him being the rabbi I study in my quest to get to know G-d deeper and truer, I realize that a lot of what I thought was "practicing" my religion has been little more than exercises in shadowing what was true, simply because the church culture I was raised in reduced the true to bite-size, easy to swallow pieces of candy instead of the meat my soul required.

For instance: G-d set up yearly festivals - modium (sp?) - where He said He would meet His people in powerful ways. He set these things up to help us remember ... His provision, His love, His forgiveness. He gave these things as living symbols, things that would help us teach our children of Him, to make our faith something alive and bursting at the seams with fragrances of Him and His creation and His love for us.

Somehow, over the course of centuries, the church has taken something alive and brilliant and reduced it to borrowed pagan festivals that we have tacked onto religious meaning -- and even in that scenario, most of us forgo most "religious" significance to fall in line with our current, self-seeking culture of materialism and over-abundance. Or, best-case scenario, it has become a time of family traditions (which are good) that we presume will somehow "give" our children a view of G-d and cause them to want to follow Him.

Or "worship" service. For me, Sunday was a time to gather together and remember G-d and what He'd done for us. But this weekly meeting soon became a simply liturgy ... a spiritual obligation which somehow, in some mysterious way, was suppose to show those around me I was "different" and "holy" because I gave up a couple of hours on Sunday to "worship." Many people feel like Sunday fulfills some unwritten responsibility to G-d, and feel like a friendly visit, surrounded by song and sermon, is enough for the week.

Contrast this to the things I am learning about Shabbot. A day of rest -- not regulated by "do's" and "don'ts," but rather by things given to nourish mind, body, spirit and soul. A day filled with family, friends, and restoration to who G-d intends me to be. A day to worship G-d, yes, and celebrate Yeshua, but so much more. Besides, aren't the former two intended to be a part of our day to day "becoming"? (that questions rhetorical, for anyone wondering). I am a long way from a regular practice of Shabbot. But my heart cries for this, and I plan and wait in eager anticipation of that time when it will be a part of me -- a part of my faith.

Recently, I heard Bruce Springsteen say, "Everything is sacred." That's not a melting pot idea that it's all good -- that spiritual thing that comes across my plate is to be consumed as nourishment to my soul. No, for me that says that each and every thing I do is worship to my G-d. Big and small things -- joys, tragedies, struggles, commitments -- everything should reflect my Rabbi -- the one I say I follow. I feel like in most "churches" (i.e. buildings and organizations) I have been a part of have castrate the sacredness of most things, raking them into the "easy," to somehow pacify their soul cry for G-d. It's easy -- but it's not what G-d intended for His children, I believe.

Everything in my body yearns for the easy. But everything in my soul cries out for the real. Dear G-d, may my soul always tend and subdue my body.

When I moved to where I am now, I really (I mean really) didn't want to do it. I fought it; I cried over it. I begged G-D to hear me and not let it happen. I was so distraught that I was taken in for a CAT scan to see if I had a brain tumor, because I had developed symptoms of such. It was not good.

Now, two and a half years later, I can see that the moved helped me become who I was truly meant to be.

I am more comfortable in my own skin than I have been in years. Not satisfied -- there are many things I would like to change about myself -- but comfortable and content as a whole with who I am.

I came to this realization this morning, after dropping my husband off for a four day conference. I was driving back home, early and still dark, and the remains of an amazing thunder storm were still rumbling around me. In my car, "my" music was playing. The car smelled of leather (from my coat), and my thoughts -- as random as they come -- rested on this truth.

There is a certain beauty found in such a place. Especially knowing that not everyone who loves me always likes the person I've become. But to know that the G-D who created me loves me no less or no more ... There is a Hebrew word, Teshuva. It has kind of become my "mantra" in recent weeks.

Teshuva is a season on the Jewish calendar. A time for looking inward, and stripping away those things that keep you from G-D. Literally, it means "to return." Return to what? I heard a rabbi (of sorts) last night say it means to return to the original mission and destiny that G-D has created for you.

I have been in a process of teshuva over the last two years. While I am not yet there -- I am closer now than I have been in a long, long time. There is a certain peace that comes with realizations like that. To no longer care quite so much about what other people think. To understand that more people value authenticity more than perfection (especially outside the four walls of the church culture I have so been a part of). To look into the faces of long known friends and to see their acceptance (if they really are friends).

My journey ... It's added a new dimension of peace to me that I never really knew before. Not totally ... In fact, G-D is bringing certain things to my surface that I must deal with, or I will literally fall into a pit of despair. But I am finding order in chaos, love in depths I never knew possible, and acceptance for who G-D created me to be -- not who I created me to be.

Amazing.

Last night, a group of about 40 friends and new acquaintances celebrated Rosh Hoshanna together for the first time. Rosh Hoshanna is the Jewish New Year, a time when people gather to lay behind the previous year and month of introspection and forgiveness of sins and celebrate their moving closer to G-D.

For us, it was also a celebration of the community G-D is allowing to organically grow and prosper in this place. We did so by a wonderful meal of roasted lamb and other goodies, a time of sharing what we had experienced and learned through Teshuvah, and then writing our fears and sins on pieces of fire wood, and burning them together as we soaked up the beauty of our Father, the redeeming work of Yeshua, and the power of the Spirit.

For me, the most powerful thing -- or things -- that happened last night were images, seared into my memory, that will make me a changed person.

I left the fire to help one of the children. It was a walk of probably 50 yards or so back to the house. It was a chilly September evening, a misty rain had begun, and on my way back, I had offered one of the older members of the group an arm to transverse the yard. She declined, but thanked me.

As I turned to leave her, sitting snuggly under the car port, I turned back to the family around the fire. There, out in the cold and dark, were some of the people who mean the most to me in this world.

WhatI saw was a small group, alone in a big darkness. But then clung tightly to each other, surrounding the only light they had. Emotion and understanding washed over me in a way that hadn't happened in a long time. It wasn't just the physical sight; it was the symbolic idea of this community that I had been drawn to. The fact that I didn't "see" the darkness, or the rain, or anything but this community: this living, breathing extention of the Kingdom of G-D, desiring nothing but to grow closer in relationship to Him, to each other, and toward those who yet do not know.

I didn't even want to join the circle. I stopped and just took it all in for a few minutes. Soon, though, my husband and one of my "hebrew brothers" saw me and drew me in to them. I couldn't sing; I couldn't talk.

I just wanted everyone to experience this, this, I can't even put words to it. "Community" is almost become passe. I guess organism is the best term right now. I cannot imagine how a person could not want something like this. When I hear of people talking this experience down around our church, I am sad, because I know they have no idea. They have decided that whatever is different from what they know is wrong, and refuse to be welcomed in. The door is open for all; but the narrowness, I think, scares people who have settled for an easy faith.

To give yourself up -- really -- is so very, very difficult. I'm still learning - I have so far to go. I've talked the theory so long, somewhere in my sick mind I think I do it. But I really don't. This experiment is still in its infancy. We know that.

But I really don't want to rush it to prematurity. I want it to be what G-D wants. I want to take the time to be formed -- discipled - into the image of Yeshua. I want to truly enjoy the journey and not get overwhelmed or caught up in simply living for the destination. More than ever before, I want this to be His, totally, without human modifications or expectations.

There's so much more. But that's all for now.

Trying to come to grips with my "aloneness" issues ...

I often feel I'm on the outside looking in. Call it paranoia, or whatever, it seems that just when I think I'm fitting into a group or situation, something convinces me otherwise.

I have this friend, and he says that I will always be in this position, because I am an observer of life. I see things, and speak bold truth into situations, and most people are not comfortable with that. So, they keep me at a distance, even while trying to portray the exsitence of intimate friendship.

Meanwhile, I most times feel like the kid never picked for baseball.

It's probably not true. But so much goes on that I "feel" like I'm a part of, yet really don't think I am. Perhaps it's my own expectations. I have for so long thought of what "community" and true, intimate relationship (friendship) could be, that I always set myself up for the fall, putting unrealistic expectations on those around me. I'm looking for something that probably cannot be realized on this plain, you know?

You'd never know these things unless we were very close. By all appearanced, I'm a fairly normal, adjusted person. Friendly -- easy to get along with. But so much of it is just, I don't know, an act? I feel close with a few people, but even have a very, very difficult time trusting them. Sometimes, it's easier for me to trust virtual strangers, because if the screw me over, it's to be expected, you know?

I find, overall, we as people are just way too self-centered to move into what I'd call true community and "agape" (unconditional) love. Sometimes, I understand why so many people who do not feel understood on this plain commit suicide, or find their escape in drugs or drink. Sometimes, the pain is too much.

You look at people who seemingly don't know -- or don't care -- and see their lives rushing from one event or one drama to the next... and they are content to live there. Me? I have a tough time of it. I even have a tough time finding someone I can talk to who really, truly understands. I have friends who want to ... but again, I think all of us are too busy and too wrapped up in what we are doing ourselves to truly extend the welcome mat to one another.

I know there are "needy" people who constantly are trying to suck me into their existence. But that's tough for me, because most of them are people who don't want to change. They just want you to validate what they are doing or who they are. If there are issues, they want to blame socitey, or their spouse, or their rotten kids (who of course, they raised) or whatever.

I guess that's what I fear becoming more than an outsider. At least where I am, I find peace occationally with being someone alone. But the thought of being viewed as one who sucks the life out of others, with no regard for them ... that's ghastly. And I know many of these people. I have to deal with some of them on a regular basis. And by the time I give to my husband, and kids, and true friends ... people on the periphial are the last thing I want to deal with.

I heard a speaker say last night that we can, ideally, have about 12 people who are our "true" friends. We have about another 40 we can call aquaintances, and we can identify about 250 people by face. I feel a lot that I'm maxed out on the second two, and have a tough time (sometimes) identifying who I can trust to be a part of the 12.

So, I stay on the outside, where I can protect myself. I look for the true opportunity to be a part of community -- living, breathing, organic life with people who feel the same way I do. I delve into those relationships (now more than ever), and wait for the day when I am "fully known," faults and all. And I praise Yeshua, because He has enabled me to be known of Abba, G-d, fully and without fear.

In that, I can rest and feel welcomed.

Today is the 36 anniversary of Jimi Hendrix death.

OK, not earth shattering news to most people. For good or bad, I tend to contextualize a lot of stuff. Hendrix -- his life and death and spiritual wanderings -- has alwasy spoken to me on the non-explainable level. His music is so amazing ... yet so raw ... and his lyrics carry a mysical quality for me that I'm still not sure how to totally verbalize. So, here's a glass (of Vernors this time) in memory of another musical genius gone before his time.

Other musings ... I opened today, which in my job is a 4:45 am proposition. I am not a morning person, nor had any real desire to become one. But with the schedule we keep at home, it's a good time to get in 5 or 6 hours work before my children even think about getting serious about their studies.

So, I go to work, and the kids are here with B. for a while. Sometimes, they are on their own (with the 15 and 13 year old in charge) for a little while. I get home, and attempt to help them with their work. I tell ya, algebra is almost impossible with very little sleep.

On good days, I get a nap. But if it's too long, I am literally hung over most of the day and useless to anyone or anything. If it's too little, I get physically sick. If it's just right, I can function a little longer than no sleep. I keep going ... kind of like the movie, Crank, if anyone has seen it (I haven't -- just heard about it). As soon as I stop, I plunge into a sleep rivaled only by that induced by heavy amounts of alcohol. It's actually when I sleep best ... the sleep deprivation, I mean.

This whole cycle is what's making me consider dropping the coffee shop job -- or at least seriously cutting back. (all the kids I work with talk about this irony ... we work at a coffee shop, but most of us are exhausted all the time -- weird) I do it because it works with my kid's schedule. But then, I'm still seriously inhibited the rest of the day. If I close, then I miss most of the family time. If I do what's called a "mid," I can't school my kids. I'm still looking for the answer here.

I really shouldn't even post this tonight. My ramblings are random, at best, when I'm like this. But I really don't want to get out of the habit of writing consistantly. It's good for me ... the whole "focusing on what you're wired to do" thing. In fact, I'm almost done with my first fictional short story. I don't think it's very good, but it's a serious attempt.

Anyway, I guess that's it for my day. Oh! My kids started fencing tonight. Who knew there is so much to the sport. They both really enjoyed it (just the older kids are doing it), and they are even talking about being serious enough for it to buy equipment from their own money. Again, they never stop amazing me.

I think I should blog on my need for approval sometime. I had a couple of situations today that reminded me I am still not "over" that part of my personality the way I think I should be. But tonight's writing would be way too transparent, and I'm just not sure I'm willing to go there yet.

I went to a funeral today.

Jeremy was a 32 year old man whom I've known for 13 years or so. Not very close to him, but more so with his younger sisters, my knowledge of Jeremy periphial at best -- with the exception of a couple of personal encounters.

Jeremy was a very deep person. That is a rare commodity these days, and although I find myself in relationship with many such "deep" people, Jeremy was "further ahead" than most of us. So much so, he was truly a stranger to this world, I think. I had a friend comment (that did not know Jeremy), "sounds like a tortured soul." I might agree. Most of us do what we can to survive day to day life. Some step further and question things that we are told and that we do. Some try to make a difference. Others simply are ... existing outside what we know as "reality," never quite fitting in ... always observing, rarely commenting, always knowing "something" most of us don't.

That was Jeremy.

He was the first person to introduce me to the concept of "messianic Judaism," a term that loosely means people who follow Torah (Old Testament) but believe that Jesus (Yeshua) was messiah, the promised one of Israel, sent by God to redeem His people. Jeremy was very open to the shallowness that most of us find in our religion, and without dismantling the belief of others, somehow made an impact on those who took the time to look past his "differentness" into the truth he spoke. He was an anomoly in his own family even. I wonder -- seriously -- if he ever had anyone who truly understood him.

This lone-ness took Jeremy past the path of Christianity and Judaism into drugs and other coping devices. Last I heard, he was pretty strung out on some stuff ... living back at home ... not really sure what he was going to do.

When I got the call Sunday that he had died, I thought the worse. But I was wrong. He died of a blood clot to the heart, in his father's arms, on his way to church. At his funeral, the pastor read his "testimony" (a brief, personal writing about how someone feels about their spiritual walk). Jeremy had come full circle. Knowing the God of the Universe, knowing Yeshua as his own, knowing that he belonged to God, and the things that had taken him away were no longer a part of his life. He had even taken the step of public baptism a year and a day before his death.

Jeremy never lost the "other worldness" he had. He simply had found, in his reason and in his journey, that the answer he sought was right were he had left it. Waiting, in the arms of his G-d. The pastor said he inhaled here, and exhaled in the presense of G-d. Theologically sound or not, it is a beautiful picture.

Jeremy's dad told me, "We wanted him back so bad ... but then realized he wouldn't want to come back once he'd tasted eternity."

I believe that Jeremy has found his peace ... his answers. Here, he was a shadow, moving among those of us that knew him, yet never truly understood him. Now, he is fully known ... fully understood.

I cried during the funeral of this man I barely knew, yet loved and admired. Some thought it was because of memories of my own mother. But it was more. Jeremy's journey is done ... he's arrived. The rest of us have more path to cover ... more days of lonliness ... more questions to race after.

Shalom, brother Jeremiah. Thank you for what you added to my life. Shalom.

I made a "quality of life" choice today. See, I work part-time at a "national coffee shot." (Don't know if I can use the name or not here ...) and it's a great job, terrific benefits, the money's OK (because I choose to work and don't have to, I'm a little more agreeable than some people I work with). Anyway, I really, really like my job .... but .... it seems like it's coming between what's "important," or at least what I say is important.

I'm all about actually trying to live my life according to the things I say. If I say something is important to me, I try to make it important through the amount of time, energy and money I put into it. I really, really dislike people who have a good "party line," but in reality live their lives in opposition or even compromise to what their mouths say. I don't ever want to be a "good talker," and a mediocre live - er, you know?

Case in point: I am a home schooler. I know, instant pictures of freaks and geeks and religious Bible bangers come to mind. No, my family is not like that -- at all. In fact, most people (after knowing us for a while) will say, "I can't believe you home school ... You're kids are so ... normal." As if that's a compliment. Anyway, that conversation is for another day.

But I say my kids are the most important investment my husband and I have been given. No, not everyone should home school (again ... not the main point in this entry). I better be willing to live my life so that not only the "outside world" knows my kids are important, but THEY know they are important and a priority for me. If my paint's in good shape, but my infrastructure sucks, what's the point? (again -- another day's rant).

So, today I joined three friends I've worked with in the past at a camp. We do leadership training -- high ropes things, helping people overcome their fears by climbing 20-30 feet in the air and going through tasks they "think" they can't do, etc. Yeah, it's safe (they're constantly tethered to safety ropes), but the experience pushes most people way past their comfort zone, and helps them become people who CAN instead of people who wish they could. I went with my friends to get some sort of certification, which means I am making a commitment to be more involved with the camp again.

I love my coffee job -- really. And I'm pretty good at what I do, because I'm good with people and I love the product, and I am all about bringing the two together.

But nothing compares to helping people become what they never thought they could. To see a kid who spends most of his days on city streets that he fears reconize the beauty of a fresh, brisk autum day ... to hear a girl cry after completing a task and say, "I just wish my mom could see me right now ..." there is nothing like it in the world. To see a group of people helping each other accomplish something siginificant, rather than tearing each other a part because someone didn't do something stupid (like how we set up a certain thing at work). Those things matter to me. So I best show it with my life.

So my quality of life choice today is to reinvest my time with changing people's lives more than serving them coffee. Rather than getting up each day to make a little money, I want to get up each day expecting something different -- something that will matter weeks or months or years from now. I don't know exactly what that means yet (our family insurance is through my job, so we're working on finding something else), but I do know that I need to spend more time living life than worried about insignificant things or even financial decisions.

To be true to who I am, I must do that.

I've been thinking a lot about this "spiritual jouney" I'm on. I keep wondering, what purpose does God have in leading me down this path?

I've always been an explorer when it come to spiritual things. I was raised pretty much as a Christian ... westernized, born again, evangelistic. I feel like I made a commitment to God very early in life. I think some of us are spiritually connected, even as young children. Knowing there is more than what we see ... I was always one of those people.

But I always had tons of questions. The beauty of it was, though, the God I believed in was big enough to handle any question I had. He was OK as I stumbled through the holy books of Mormon, and the Koran, and various other belief systems. He didn't flinch when I read about the Hindu pantheon, or even wondered deeply about Native American beliefs. Somewhere inside of me, He patiently waited until I returned from my travels, and His consistant presense made me love Him more deeply after each journey.

So now, after forty and almost twenty years married to a pastor in the "traditional" Christian church, I stumble onto things I "knew" in my heart, but really didn't know. That Jesus was Jewish, and a part from understanding the deeper things of Judaism, I cannot fully know Him. That God ... the God I believe in ... first spoke out of nothingness to Abram, the father of not only the Hebrews, but the Muslims. That He called out for Himself from Egypt a Hebrew people ... freeing them from slavery, and making them His own.

That the faith I profess is a grafting onto this ancient, ever persistant thing.

It stirs in my soul. It is not a thing I easily portray. I'm not emotional by make up, so these things that sculpt my soul are not easily articulated. That's why the anonimity of "blogging" helps me process things I have a difficult time verbalizing with my friends.

So my questions today is, where is this path leading? To communal life? To establishing a place that really deals with "real" religion which, according to Torah and Jesus' words (or Yeshua, which was his given name) is to take care of orphans and widows and to do good while sharing good news of life and love to those losing hope and lost?

All I know is that I cannot simply go back to where I was. Each spiritual trip has me coming back changed ... refined ... with no more answers but many more questions as I work out these things in the very depth of my soul.

I guess for now, I'll just enjoy the journey and not worry about the destination.

My dad's almost eighty.

I said that yesterday to the stranger checking me out at the local market. See, my dad came down to help me can tomatoes.

Canning was always my mom's thing. She was the master homemaker. She did everything ... and did it often from scratch. I helped once in a while, but to be honest, at this point in my life, canning does not take a very high priority on my list. But last year, the kids and I made an effort to go up to my home and can with my parents. Or at least, my dad. At that point, my mom was physically unable to do a whole lot. But she enjoyed our family simply being there.

So we canned. We had a good day, but it was difficult ... a lot of lifting, standing, waiting. I can't say it was fun at all. But I kept my mouth shut (there was a small miracle) and did what I had to do ... begrudgingly, but did it. Dad had all these plans -- short cuts, helps, etc. He really got into it. We spent the day canning, while mom watched TV with the kids.

I remember that day, because it was one of the few times my dad broke down. He's a strong old hillbilly, but he sensed and vocalized what I knew but was afraid to bring out: my mom was dying. I remember acknowledging what he said -- but not really. Canning tomatoes is a lot of work, so I kept busy as we talked, quietly in the kitchen. Him dealing with the reality. Me doing all in my power to will it out of the realm of truth.

That was the last canning my mom was a part of. She passed away last October.

Fast forward to yesterday. My dad came down to my home to help me can. I had worked yesterday morning (which means getting up and around at 4:00 AM), and he brought down almost 2 bushels of tomatoes. I started in, focusing hard and actually beginning to enjoy the production. My dad was carrying boiling water to help prepare the tomatoes, when he suddenly lost control of the pot, and spilled water all over his leg.

Immediately, his frail white foot blistered. We sat him down, put cold compresses on it, and called his doctor. He was fine -- but I was not. The whole stupid thing reminded me that my dad ... this man that could do anything, and who stands proverbally invincable in my memories and heart, is quickly becoming an eighty year old man. Just like my mom, one day I will stand over his coffin, questioning and wondering if I did everything in my power to be a good daughter ... did I make him proud?

I've been able to keep a lot of these feelings buried deep inside of me, with only an occasional bout of wrestling them back down into my inner places. The fact that my dad is almost eighty ... that I verbalized that to a stranger ... was like my first piece of preparation, you know? I'm not going off to bury him tomorrow or anything. But at least I'm beginning to deal -- even in this very small way.