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.