I’m amazed that she was able to live her life on her terms, never marrying (though privately — or not so privately — carrying on a long-term affair with the married but separated Spencer Tracy), and never — as far as I know — seen as a freak (or rumored to be lesbian, as is sadly the case today for any single woman over a certain age), nor ever even giving a damn whether she was seen as a freak by society. She was practical, witty, intelligent, classy, talented, independent, and beautiful. How can you beat that combination?

I wish that it were true that Katharine-with-an-a equals Lu-with-no-o, but I can only hope and pray that someday I on my best day will have even half of what Kate had on her worst.

Lord, be merciful and kind and let me be my own version of a Katharine Hepburn; leaving a spiritual legacy as powerful and dynamic as was Katherine’s film and cultural one.

You are the fabulously
quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow
your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next
to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone.
Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally
woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and
off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can
pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen
with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like
strong women.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 26% on grit

You scored higher than 94% on wit

You scored higher than 58% on flair

You scored higher than 0% on class

Check it out and see which Classic Dame you are. But  be warned, OkCupid.com insists you sign up before it will give you your results (it’s free). Frustrating, but worth it if you’re into this crazy stuff.

Sorry for the silence here.  I know some of you check almost daily and I really appreciate your faithfulness. I have so much to say, but I’ve been so busy with school and shopping and Christmas stuff that I haven’t had any time to write. But I thought I’d take a quick moment to just give an update.

First off, I’m still singing the Mind Algebraic —well, really it’s the Mind Mathematics/Quantitative Literacy. I’ve worked on basic mathematics concepts, algebra, trigonometry, critical thinking… right now I’m working on geometry, and in the next week or so I’ll start statistics. My frustration with it waxes and wanes with the level of complexity and difficulty — which is usually toward the end of the chapters. I am just not a naturally left-brained person. Though I am learning to adjust and think that way, ever so sllooooowly. The most exciting part has been realizing I really can do it. Trig is my favorite so far. I really like all the triangle puzzle stuff. I don’t know why you would want to know or care about all that, but it can be fun stuff to chew on…… ohmigosh, I didn’t just say that, did I?? I didn’t just say I’m actually enjoying a part of math! What is happening to me. It must be the Christmas season infecting me.

Speaking of, I stated in an earlier post that this is the first time in many years that I’ve
actually been excited to celebrate Christmas and I realized recently I didn’t fully explain. I won’t go into great detail here, most of you know the hell I went through a few years back anyway. The holidays have been painful ever since. And, truthfully, my first (and only for a while) Christmas overseas was also difficult, but not as much so as the four years that followed. Those four years I didn’t decorate my home, didn’t get a Tree, even listening to Christmas music was painful — to say nothing of seeing the decorations, shopping for gifts in decked-out malls or unwittingly catching a holiday movie on television. I avoided them like the plague; "It’s a Wonderful Life" was the worst. Can you imagine trying to avoid seeing that during the Christmas season? Yeah, impossible. But it was just too painful to see people living out a happily-ever-after ending when I felt so completely that I would never have that.

I think the holidays are harder to survive for single people after the deaths of parents than it is for those who are married and have a family of their own. You really do feel like an orphan with no parents and no home to "go home" to; as well as feeling like a fifth-wheel at the family celebrations of siblings. Fortunately I have an amazing sister who welcomed me with open arms and made me feel not only welcome but truly wanted. I rarely feel like a fifth wheel there.

I think the break-through I had at Easter had ripple effects far wider than I thought. Because as the holidays approached this year I began to feel excitement instead of depression. And that has just grown and even exploded at times. I’m truly enjoying and savoring every moment of this Christmas season. It’s just been amazing. And I realized recently that I have emerged from this time of pain and sadness with a totally different perspective, and a new paradigm.

From Childhood on, Christmas for me was about the lights and the decorations, the Christmas programs (school and church) and caroling, the music, the family gatherings, the parties and the blustery chill of a Southern California December. I have a storehouse full of wonderful memories of this time of year. But it was mostly about the season; about the American version of Christmas rather than the deeper reality of what it is we are celebrating. Oh, I knew about Bethlehem and baby Jesus and all that. And it wasn’t that I didn’t acknowledge that or spend time meditating and thanking God for His gift. I did, but never on such a profound level.

This year I connected with that Truth, that reality of who Jesus is and the sacrifice He made for me, on a profoundly deep and intimate level and it has radically changed who I am and how I see life. Christmas for me now is about celebrating the birth of the most
amazing Gift God ever gave me; the gift of Abundant Life in Jesus. The rest of it — lights, music, movies, smells, etc — is just delicious icing. I am humbled beyond words that He, the Almighty, Most Holy, One True Living God would love me so much that He would willingly lay aside all His glory and majesty and become a little helpless human baby, and subject Himself to all the pain and crap we humans put upon each other. He didn’t have to do that. He is the Creator of the universe; He could have created a different way of salvation. But He didn’t. He chose the hard way. And we get to give each other gifts, race with other mall patrons for parking spaces, and fight with other shoppers for that last Nintendo Wii all because of His all-consuming love for us. I am in awe at the unfailing, unending generosity and grace of God.

I am so blessed. I have so much in the way of physical and monetary provision that many around the world do not have. But even if God allows all of that to be taken from me, I will still be incredibly blessed. I know Love and Abundant Life — I dwell within them! I wake every morning to my Redeemer, my Beloved singing to me and I fall asleep every night to His whispers of His love, protection and grace. I have been forgiven for things I never thought were forgivable and I have found my meaning and purpose in simply living every moment intimately connected to God.

This is what I celebrate this Christmas. This is what compels me to gift a gift, to decorate
my home and my cube at work, to sing Christmas songs, drive around the mall till a parking spot opens up, and watch endless rounds of "It’s a Wonderful Life" and cry with sympathetic pain, and abiding joy every single time. God is good. God. Is. Good. And I am blessed beyond measure!

Happy Christmas everyone. May your Christmas be filled with the most profound Joy and abiding Peace you have every known. And may you see Jesus in a new, more intimate way.

Who here among us has not been broken
Who here among us is without guilt or pain
So oft’ abandoned by our transgressions
If such a thing as grace exists
Then grace was made for lives like this

Tonight I went to see a movie starring one of my favorite actresses. Judi Dench has been somewhat a hero of mine for a long time. I don’t know exactly what it is — her inner strength, perhaps, that shines through every performance, her wit, her talent, her striking beauty, especially at an age when many women just start falling apart,  her class, her power to captivate no matter how small a role she’s playing… Perhaps all of it. I want to be like her when I grow up. Or at least look like her.

Notes on a Scandal gave me a different Judi Dench than I expected; one that disturbed me throughout the film, then left me speechless and in awe of her talent afterward. She plays a discomfiting, complex woman with exquisite deft and with incredibly unflinching humanity. Her character, Barbara, could easily have become a caricature of a crazy spinster, but never does.  She is both frightening and at the same time intriguing. Just about the time you think you’ve got her figured out as the crusty spinster with a soft maternal inside, her behavior turns bizarre and alarming. Just as quickly, she returns to her matronly role, just long enough for you to believe her deviant behavior was an aberration, then she does it again. I’m telling you, disturbing.

I have a struggle with movies like this these days. Being a single-never-married woman in my early 40s, I walk a precarious path between becoming, if only in my own eyes, a truly pitiable old spinster, complete with cat and orthopedic shoes, or grabbing the first man that comes along and settling for a loveless, joyless marriage just so I won’t be alone. It takes a lot of strength, courage and tenacity to stay on the path I’m on and wait for God’s best.  Any film delving into the life of a "spinster" delves into my own fears as well. Barbara’s struggle was with acute loneliness; the agony of a life without true intimacy and human touch. Its a struggle I am all too familiar with.  I’ve felt that agony many times in my life.  It drives many people to seek intimacy through sexual encounters, where ever and how ever they may come.  Thank God it’s driven me into the arms of God, the arms of Jesus, my Beloved. He has met my deepest needs for intimacy, far better than any man could.

There are no strangers
There are no outcasts
There are no orphans of God
So many fallen, but hallelujah
There are no orphans of God

As I drove home tonight, I wept as I allowed my own fears of becoming a spinster to stand up and say their peace. I’ve spent most of my life shoving my feelings down, ignoring them, denying them or telling them to shut up rather than acknowledging them and letting them have a moment.  I’m slowly learning that the only way to deal with my fear is to face it, let it speak, and then to look at Jesus and say, "now what? Help me."  So that’s what I did tonight.

This song, Orphans of God, by Avalon began playing. I got their CD, Stand, yesterday and it’s been playing in my car ever since.  I wish I could play the song for you here, or at least provide a link to an mp3 file you could listen to. It’s a powerful song I first heard at the Women of Faith conference in Charlotte last year.  It’s especially meaningful to me because ever since my parents died in 2003 I’ve felt like an orphan. All my siblings are married with kids of their own. The only real family of my own I had were my parents. With them gone, I feel — well, family-less. I realize that in reality I’m not, but have you ever noticed that feelings just don’t give a damn about reality? They are what they are and they make no apologies and no concessions for anyone or anything, especially reality.

Come ye unwanted and find affection
Come all ye weary, come and lay down your head
Come ye unworthy, you are my brother
If such a thing as grace exists
Then grace was made for lives like this

As I’m listening to this song and pouring out my fears to God, He just wraps His arms around me and listens.  Slowly, quietly I start realizing that the life I saw played out for the last two hours was a life without God. It was a life of desperation driven by our insatiable need for community and intimacy; a life that never responded to the daily brush of God’s Spirit upon her own. It’s what happens to each of us when we choose to ignore those soft, persistent caresses, the whispered "I love you"s. Eventually we stop noticing His touch, we stop hearing His whispers. It just becomes part of the background noise of our lives, while our pain and our lonliness takes centerstage.

Even those of us who are connected to God, who are followers of Jesus, devoted, faithful, even strong –even we can get so wrapped up in our pain that we don’t notice His touch and His whispers. I’ve been in such pain and depression, in such darkness in my own soul that I could not see my hand in front of my face. Sometimes my pain, and often times my fear, was so strong that God’s presence became just background noise. I could barely distinguish His caresses on my spirit from the searing pain in my heart. And His whispers were lost in the roar of agony. I remember one time, Easter Sunday 2004, finally wailing and screaming to Him, "NOW is the time! You said You would rescue me at the appointed time. Well, that time is NOW. I need you NOW. Come NOW. I cannot do this anymore. Come NOW!"

There are no strangers
There are no outcasts
There are no orphans of God
So many fallen, but hallelujah
There are no orphans of God

He came. With smoke in His nostrils and consuming fire shooting from His mouth, He came and rescued me. I’m not kidding. I saw it as clearly as if with my physical eyes. I saw it. He came roaring out of the heavens and scattered and routed my enemies — those accusing voices, the screaming fears, the blistering agony of abuse and loss — just as Psalm 18 describes. Then He knelt beside me and said, "I’m hear, baby. I’m here. We’ll get through this day." I was raw with pain, but I wasn’t alone. I never was. And I never will be. He walked with me through that day, and every day since. Including tonight, as my fear got in my face and I let it say its peace.

I think of some of the people I know who are in such pain. I think of the hurtful words I’ve read from people in terrible pain, striking out at those who caused their suffering, not even realizing how hurtful their words are. My heart aches for each person involved. There are followers of Jesus all over the world struggling to hear God’s whispers, unable to distinguish between the caresses of God and the searing pain of their own soul, in desperate need for God to come roaring out of heaven and scatter their enemies, who feed on them like vultures. 

O blessed Father, look down upon us
We are Your children, we need Your love
We run before Your throne of mercy
And seek Your face to rise above

Our pain can lead us to believe we are orphans; that God has abandoned us and we are alone in our fight for justice, for peace.  But sometimes feelings lie. They don’t tell the whole truth of what is happening.

God is already at work, fighting for us, scattering our enemies, putting right what went wrong. He longs to spread a healing balm on our wounds, and cradle us in His strong arms until our tears are spent and we finally find rest. But He won’t force Himself on anyone, even His Own.

There are no strangers   
There are no outcasts   
There are no orphans of God   
So many fallen, but hallelujah   
There are no orphans of God   

I wish I could take away the pain I see written in all the words of so many hurting people! But I cannot. They cry out for justice and recompense, and they are ready to fight to get it. I don’t know that their actions will accomplish anything more than creating more hurt and pain, but I could be wrong. Only God knows these things. I only know I cannot give them what they long for. Only God can. All I can do is cry out to my Beloved, "NOW is the time! You said You would rescue Your people at the appointed time. Well, that time is NOW. They need you NOW. Come NOW!" And then watch Him act.

There are no strangers   
There are no outcasts   
There are no orphans of God   
So many fallen, but hallelujah   
There are no orphans of God

"Orphans of God" written by Twila LeBar and Joel Lindsey, sung by Avalon

Not that He’s not a sensational conversationalist and very receptive to compliments of His work. But sometimes it would just be nice to have a good strong man to share the moment with…. or the rest of my life…

*sigh*

I’ll be alright. It’s probably just hormones….

I suppose I’m showing my age by talking "little" and "young" about an eligible, and obviously handsome, early 30s man. I’d probably find him interesting and engaging if I met him in person. Perhaps even be attracted. I certainly won’t turn down a date invitation from a 33 year-old (should one just happen to come). I’m not an idiot.

But watching Travis on tv, he just struck me as a kid in a candy store: wide-eyed and ready to try everything. And in need of a big sister’s rolling eyes and wise counsel. His choices in who got roses struck me as from a boy who still hasn’t quite grown into a man yet.

Don’t get me wrong, for the most part I liked his choices. I was especially rooting for Sarah from Nashville. But red-haired Sarah? Come on. She’s 23 and acts it. Perhaps even younger. At least the Sarah (is that her name?? Too many Sarahs….) from Canada seemed more mature, and confident in her own skin.

My heart broke, though, for the girl-Doc from Florida. She completely shot herself in the foot talking about how she’s ready to move "into her reproductive stage of life". For a woman who’s got such schooling, she proved she’s really lacking in people smarts. Or at least men-smarts. I mean, really. You don’t just start talking babies on the first date. And, contrary to her convictions, there really are other reasons to marry besides reproducing. There’s companionship and partnership and love and enjoyment and fun. But the poor girl was heart-broken when she didn’t get a rose. To the point of threatening not to ever date again, though I’m sure she’s since reconsidered that choice.

I understand her frustration. Sometimes it seems that men just don’t want the same things we women want. Other times it seems they are just callous, free-wheeling self-centered jerks. Oh, but we love them! We dream of them. We long for one of our own. And then, when we get one, we wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

It had to be rough to be Travis in Paris. No, really! I know you’re laughing, but think about it a moment. 12 driven, hungry women vying for the same one guy. That’s some nasty mojo. And you have to be a woman to truly understand and appreciate the truth of that statement. I truly believe if women were in charge of  war-making, war would be a truly hellish thing. Guys just shoot guns and drop bombs. Women gossip, tell lies wrapped in truth and truth wrapped in lies, betray and back-stab…. all while smiling sweetly and swearing true friendship and loyalty. If this guy managed to come out of this whole experience unscathed by the bloody realities of women-group life, it was nothing less than a miracle.

This is my first experience watching "The Bachelor". Perhaps that’s obvious in my post. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach watching the whole thing, but I’m gonna give it a shot, if for no other reason than to root for Doc-Travis, and pray, and cringe over every poor choice, and cheer every good one and then pray some more — even though the whole thing is already over — just like a good big sister should.

Good luck, Doc Travis. You’re gonna need it!

I’m excited about getting moved, BUT I’m completely fed up/frustrated and pooped out by all the crap that goes with moving… namely, packing and arranging help to move. Pretty much everyone I’ve asked has either not been able to say because of their fluid schedules, committed and then back out because of previous but forgotten engagements, or not been able to help at all due to schedule conflicts.

I miss the days when all I had to do was tell my life group I needed help, and tell the worship team, and voila! I had an instant moving party. I’ve figured that I probably just don’t know people well enough here to really rate high enough in their lives to squeeze in a move for me. Not that I think people are free but just not coming; I don’t. I think everyone’s reasons are legitimate. But I had many years of history with my friends in LA, and consequently they always managed to come through for me when I needed them.

I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of getting it done with free labor/help and have booked Two Men and a Truck to come move the furniture on Friday. I feel much calmer and at peace now than I have the last week or so not knowing who, if anyone, was going to show up. Saturday I’ll move the smaller stuff that the professionals don’t — unless they have time (and I have the money) to move it all at once.  Which, come to think of it, would be awesome. I like the idea of having Saturday to unpack in a relaxed, non-rushed way.

All the craziness with trying to get a moving crew together caused me to really consider where I am right now and the kind of community I’ve chosen to plant myself in. — And yes, I choose the word plant, even though, as Larry points out, there’s a trend in the ministry world of moving away from the phrase "church plant" because it implies immobility, rootedness. More on that another time. — Am I in a place where people really understand and live out the phrase "doing life together", or am I in a place where it’s just another word for fellowship at appointed times?

I don’t really know. My heart and gut tell me its the former, not the latter. But another voice tickles me with the emerging situation of my move and tells me perhaps my heart is wrong. Which voice do I listen to? Which voice is right?

I don’t have answers. Only decisions. I choose to believe my heart.

Nashville is such a different culture than LA. And Nashville churches such different animals than Mosaic. I thought life was rather fluid at Mosaic. And, in truth, our services are very fluid. But life in general wasn’t so much. Here, with so many people in the music industry and not knowing from week to week, even day to day, what their schedule is going to be or where they will be working, life is incredibly fluid. It can be crazy-making. Especially for a mild control-freak like me. I like to know things, have things settled, in advance. Flexibility is fine, but at least give me a range, some boundaries, that the flexibility will be within. Does that sound crazy?

No matter how longingly I stare at my past, it will never change the place I’m in right now, or the places God desires me to go. I miss my home church. I miss my community. And yet, if I were to leave here, I’d miss People’s Church just as much — but for different reasons. I hope, perhaps, that the community I form here will be just as strong, just as durable and just as eternal as the one I have in LA. Even now, after being gone over a year, I know I’d be surrounded and loved on and plugged into service there as I ever was.

But I haven’t been at TCP long enough to expect that from the community around me. At least I don’t think so. People don’t really know me, don’t have a history with me yet. Community is based on relationships. And relationships are like a garden. They have to be tended to with great care. I’ve planted seeds and some small shoots of friendship have sprung up, but those tender shoots can’t hold too much.

At least that’s what I think. I don’t know… am I wrong about this? Am I not expecting enough from a community? Or am I expecting too much? Is Mosaic the exception or the rule?

I hope this post makes sense…. I’m too exhausted to proof it.

I’m testing out Typepad. You can get a free 30-day trial when you sign up. Mine starts today. Thought I would see if its easier than Blogger — especially with my Mac.

I got an idea from another blog I happened upon and thought I’d journal the last 26 days of my 30s. And probably reminisce a little about the paths I took getting here. Here’s the link.

Turning 40

Check it out and let me know wha’cha think.

This is interesting. I hadn’t heard of the Half Your Age Plus Seven rule before.

If Your Age is 39:         26.5 to 64
If Your Age is 40:         27 to 66

I’d always felt that 10 years was the breaking point for age-difference in relationships. Any more than that and you start getting into serious generation gaps.

For most of my life I wanted to marry someone my age or older. I never considered marrying someone younger. Not until my friend Holly began encouraging me to marry someone younger, based on her experiences with her then boyfriend-now husband, Erik. did I ever entertain the thought. Now I think it would be very refreshing to marry someone younger. Heck, I wouldn’t mind just dating someone younger….. Heck I wouldn’t mind just dating….

At any rate, I certainly ain’t gonna marry no 60-something year olds. I can’t even see myself with a 50-something — even if he were Richard Dean Anderson, who’s somewhere around 54.

Well… okay… I would marry Ricky Dean…
….I mean, look at him. Who can resist this!

Boxes, boxes everywhere! How did I get so much stuff!! I thought I did the sort-discard-re-sort-discard-pack thing when I went overseas two years ago… in fact, I know I did. But in that year overseas, I seem to have collected more stuff…! And even the irrelevant things got shipped back — I wasn’t allowed to go back and pack myself, due to being on medical leave, so someone else packed me up. God BLESS them for it! But, it made for much chaos and confusion — and a bit of frustration — as I’ve unpacked. Searching for things I was sure I had, finding things I thought had been sold, and discovering things I’d thought were supposed to come back had not, in fact, made it back.

The place IS beginning to look like home, but the feeling still hasn’t come. The older I get, the more time it seems to take for a place to "feel" like home. Or maybe I’m just feeling the effects of all I’ve been through in the last couple of years, and my year-plus of living nomadic lifestyle. I’m not even sure what home’s supposed to look like any more.

But I know what it smells like. It smells like Nina’s basement apartment… mom and dad’s home the last six months of their lives.

I got back to her home last month, walked into the basement, got a good whiff of it and sighed, "aaahhh, I’m home!" Isn’t that weird? A place with such sad memories, the place where I my mom died, where I first saw her when I got home…. but it’s also the place I lived during the holidays last year. And those have become some of my most cherished memories, even though they were hard, hard times. I was so depressed and felt so without hope.

It was in the midst of that darkness that God met me, Nina and Toby carried me, the Holy Spirit enveloped me. Though I could not see Him or feel Him, I knew Jesus was there. No, I didn’t know, I just BELIEVED He was there…. I chose to believe and clung to that belief with all the strength I had left – which wasn’t much. It was either believe or die. Believe or be swallowed whole by the darkness. Believe or… or lose myself completely to the Abyss.

Perhaps that’s what home is. Perhaps that’s what the smell in Nina’s beautiful basement apartment really reminds me of.  The sweetness of being rescued by God. Sweetness that can only be fully known by believing what you cannot see or feel when all your senses are screaming that it’s over, there is no hope left.

I have many magical memories of home, but perhaps none so magical, or so packed full of hope, as last Christmas at Nina’s.  It’s a magic I’ve never known before, and didn’t know it then. The kind you cannot know unless you’ve clung to the precipice of the Abyss and, with fear throbbing through every fiber of your being, shouted at the top of your lungs, "I believe You, God!! I believe You are here, as You say You are. I believe You! I believe You love me beyond all comprehension! I believe You will rescue me! I believe You! And I refuse to ever stop believing!"

Perhaps that’s what Home is. Hope-packed magic that only God and a stubbornly willing heart can create.