scrappin' on a tuesday

these are some of the pictures that herb took of me in mexico this spring.
we were on a bike ride and saw an outcropping
so we ditched out bikes and peaked over the edge
to find this beautiful piece of beach below
covered in small conch shells
i mean COVERED!
i asked herb to take some pics of me
and let's keep it real . . .
because i don't want to fall into the blog & scrapbooking temptation
of just sharing the nice and pretty stuff . . .
the truth is that herb gets kind of embarassed when i asked him to take my pictures -
like a little photo shoot . . .
not his favorite thing.
and things can get kind of weird and tense
because i like having my picture taken
and he doesn't really get it.
but he is a good sport about it.

i laid down on the shells,
right where the tide was hitting when it came in
and herb took pics as the waves washed over me
they are such beautiful pictures
they just remind me to live from the essence of myself.
not to get caught up in what others want me to be
but to really know myself
who god made me to be
get to know THAT girl
really really well
take good care of her and let her soar!

these pics just remind me of freedom
simplicity
no complications
essence
peace

do you have a favorite picture of yourself?

looking back

a fun little question posed on this blog today
led me to dig into my pictures to see what i was doing a year ago today
i didn't take anything on june 7th last year
but these were taken saturday june 10, 2006
at the estes park beer festival

man, our life sure is fun!

None of Us Our Free

Today's Song: None of Us Are Free
The Voice: Solomon Burke

The Thoughts:


as we enter into Advent, we try to put on our old school jewish hats . . . we try to imagine what life was like as they anticipated the messiahs first arrival.

again, we look back and see a people who spent generations in exile . . .
then in slavery . . .
then wandering . . .

they lived a life without a foundation. without safety.

there is a long history of unfortunate things that happened TO the jewish people . . .
but there is also a long, painful story to be told of the constant push and pull between god and his people.
from the beginning, we see this.
and all through the old testament.

i remember sitting in my old testament class during my second semester of seminary . . . i had just graduated from college, where, despite (or perhaps because of) my high involvement in a campus ministry, i left feeling completely disillusioned in my faith. it was rattled. i had arrived at a place where i had too much evidence to deny god's existence . . . i even saw that he was good . . . and that he loved people . . . but i had too much evidence to the contrary to believe that he loved ME.
still, i left college and went to seminary to study the bible and counseling.


i sat in that class, and for the first several months, i was overwhelmed by god's harshness.
the way he punished.
the way he doomed.
the way he cursed.
and even destroyed.

line after line. chapter after chapter.
i was disgusted.
with him.
but the more the people messed up, the more he gave them a second chance. consistently . . .

what an interesting sensibility our god has.
he really took the spiritual, internal reality of his beloved people . . . spiritually enslaved.
and he caused them to have a very external, tangible experience with it.
wow.

we are spititual slaves to anything that is not of god.
on top of their unfaithfulness to god . . . their adulterous hearts . . .
they would eventually become actual, physical, human slaves to an empire that did not, and would not confess god's name.

that is like the ultimate object lesson.

they were enslaved
and they longed to be free

it makes me wonder . . .
what am i enslaved to?

What Is It We Are Waiting For?

The cool thing about yesterday's Advent mix up is that we just bought ourselves a week to explore the back story.
Why do we acknowledge this time of anticipation?
Why do we celebrate a child's birth that took place 2000 years ago?

I have a few thoughts on all of this . . .

Keep in mind a few things . . .
A) It has been 7 years since in sat in my Old Testament seminary classes. So, I know that I might have some of the Biblical details mixed up. I will try to clarify those as I study more this month.
B) These are my thoughts and words about Advent . . . please enjoy them, use them, pass them along . . . but please don't preach them, publish them, or claim them as your own.

Now that we have all of that cleared up . . .


From the time I became a believer in Christ (in my late teens), I can remember feeling disillusioned during the Christmas Eve service at church. The day would go great up to the point that I sat in the dim old church; squirming around in a creaky wooden pew. We wrapped last minute gifts . . . or in my case, we made our last minute gifts and prayed they would dry on time! And then mom made homemade waffles and ham. After washing down a great day with a tall glass of egg nog, we drove to church.

Eventually, I saw Christmas Eve as a time of worship rather than a special night to wear my new dress and oggle at the women who wore fur coats to the late service.

But I always left feeling sad and overwhelmed.
It was clear that what was being said was important.
What we observed was important.

I knew it must be important because there was a 20 foot tree at the front of the building and hundreds of poinsetas placed strategically around the room. The choir, robed in Burgundy and gold, sang songs learned especially for that evening - often times in Latin. Now, I don't know about you, but in my world, if a person makes the effort to learn something in Latin, it is a pretty special occasion.

They had my attention.
It was clear that Christmas was important.

But I felt hard pressed to be changed in my heart by what had happened in Bethlehem so many years ago. Even as an adult, it has been hard to celebrate something that I don't really understand the origin and importance of. Easter is much easier for me. As violent and agonizing as the story is, I get the whole, "he died for your sins and then overcame them" thing.

What has been more difficult to grasp is the process of "waiting" and "anticipating" that Israel went through so many years ago. It is hard to imagine a time in history when people believed the Savior would come . . . they just didn't know when.

The time of Advent leads up to the crescendo of Christ's birth!
But the message that was told was always too big to fit into an hour long service. There were not enough candles or choir robes or words in the Latin language to sufficiently communicate the message. It was like pouring the Pacific Ocean into a Dixie Cup.

Even if it had been possible for them to sufficiently convey the message in one hour, my heart could not hold it; my mind could not comprehend it. Because the Christmas Story is so much longer than what can be told in one hour. It has so little to do with stars and wisemen and mangers. Those are, in my opinion, vivid but gratuitous details that we have grasped tightly to, with the hopes of creating some symbolance of order out of this holiday.

Most sermons are based on 9 or 10 verses of Scripture. That is, if the pastor even uses Scripture anymore! But this message, really, requires the back story of the entire Old Testament and hundreds of years of relationship between God and man to fully appreciate the significance of a young, unmarried girl who risked her life because she believed that an angel told her the child in her belly was from God.

It doesn't do much good to anticipate Christ's arrival if we don't really understand why we need him. You can't yearn for somebody that you don't know. You can't really celebrate the homecoming of a loved one if you didn't miss their absence in the first place.
I suppose that is exactly what the Isrealites did.

By the time of his birth, Christ had been prophesied about for decades. Some people yearned for his anticipated arrival. Sadly, many people lost hope that he would come at all, and the faithful anticipatory crowd tended to be limited to prophets and others who were considered to be the town crazies and overall burdensome to those who just wanted to live their lives without obligation or boundary.

Why did they need a Savior? Why was this Emmanuel's arrival such a big deal? Why were they anticipating him for so long?

We can trace this all the way back to Genesis. From the time Eve's lips tongue tasted lies mixed with apple juice, we needed some help.

We needed a Redeemer. We were disconnected from God after that whole fresh fruit fiasco, and humanity as a whole was desperately in need of a means of repaying an infinite debt.

Later, the nation of Israel is formed in the form of one polygomist who had a falling out with his brother, so he takes his wives and all of their children away from their homes out of his own fear, and ends up in Egypt, where they are enslaved. All of those people suffered because he was a bonehead. Perhaps he was feeling a little like Miss Eve at that moment.

Yes, I am thinking we need a Savior. Because, don't we all make mistakes like this? (. . . the answer . . . it is "yes".)

Later, there is this whole locust and blood thing . . . kind of gruesome. They finally get out of dodge one night after an angel goes through town and knocks off all of the Egyptians. So, they are free, but far from home. So God earmarks a kid with a lisp to lead the group of ex-slaves to a "promised land". But what should have been a three or four day walk takes 40 years.

These people are wandering around and without a King. They cannot go home and they cannot go to the "promised land" due to political unrest. They don't have a poltical leader to protect them.

And they are desperate for one. Why?

A king, a good king, will represent and protect his people. A good king has a voice that is respected and heeded. A good king helps to maintain order and justice.

This is something we all need. And without a good king, we are either unfairly reigned (a dictatorship) or reigned with a weak hand and left to our own devices. There was disorder and injustice - and they longed for someone to come in to guide and protect them.

One problem is that people have historically been disinterested in resolving the breech between themselves and God. It seems much easier and more comfortable to just keep things the way they are.

Israel needed a king. We need a king. The reality is, they had one - from the beginning, God has been king.

But they chose not to follow him. They did not respond to his direction.

So, God promised them a king they might respond to.
A human king.

And so, we wait, like they waited.
We look inside and we see the ways that our souls are just like the state of Isreal back before the Savior was born . . . scared, without direction, and burdened.
It becomes just a bit more clear that this kid whose birthday we celebrate next month, might actually be worth the wait.

Look inside . . . And ask . . .

How do I need to be redeemed?
How do I need to be led?
How do I need to be protected?

These are the reasons a Messiah was promised and delivered. If we don't know why a Redeemer is significant in our lives, then we have no basis on which to anticipate Christ or to celebrate his birth at the end of this month.

And we are left with a belly full of nog and an empty heart.

My Inner Afro-Cuban

There is a small Afro-Cuban woman that lives inside my belly. She often gets trapped by my two left feet. But she is in there. And last night, Mr. Chuchito Valdes called her out and led her around the dance floor of the Boulder theatre like the Pide Piper. If you don't know this man's music, go to i-tunes now and become acquainted. Run along now.

Now This is MY Kind of Class

In high school one of my "other mothers", Deb, often assured me that if I could just get through the next couple years, I would be fine. "You were MADE for college", she would say. Deb insisted that once I moved on from the high school scene I would finally find like-minded people who had similar goals and *gasp* understood my sense of humor. And as all good "other mothers", she was right. In college, I finally found my groove.

And last night, after years of randomly trying various dance, aerobic, and step classes, I found my groove again. NIA is to that first week of college as step aerobics is to the required daily 35 greuling minutes in the high school cafeteria. A mixture of dance, healing arts, and martial arts, it is about freedom and moving according to your body's own beat. It is about exploring and healing. There is some structure, but within that structure, there is a freedom to let your body move however it needs and wants to. And the music. Oh, the music! Latin, middle-eastern, african tribal, R&B and deep-gutsy slave spirituals. After an hour, I had laughed, smiled, punched, slithered, pushed, yelled, rolled, cried (but just a tiny bit), cha-chaed, did snow angels on the floor and danced a big beautiful dance of victory and strength. In a one hour exercise class. If you can deal with the occaisional weirdness (I just prayed when we "bowed" to each corner of the room), you must check this out!

But I Regress . . .

Sunday morning I pulled the basil from my friend Kaye's late summer garden out of the refridgerator and made a large batch of pesto to freeze for the winter. Then Herb and I hopped into Valty and took a long drive through the foothills. Up to this point, it was a day filled with very adult activities. A few hours later we looped around the city and pulled up to the home of my co-worker gone friend gone boss, Matt.

Matt turned 30 this week. And what better way to celebrate than a gigantic, homemade slip-n-slide in your backyard? There is no better way, I tell you. Apparently, Matt and Tamara originally thought the classic S-n-S would do the trick, but it had been tossed off to the side by the time we arrived. In its place was 40 feet of industrial strength plastic. You may say fun. I say dangerous. Because at the end of this sheet of plastic was the edge of the yard, complete with a tie wall and a three foot drop off. But Matt and Tamara are smart and they thought of everything. The wooden railroad tie wall had been padded with old carpeting. And at the bottom of the drop-off . . . you got it - a wading pool!

We survived the first hour without anyone mentioning the fact that Herb and I were merely onlookers without our swimming suits. But as the keg emptied, the masses got rowdier. Now, before I go any farther, let me remind you that I am on a quest to rid my body of all things that aren't useful - so the only bevie in my red party cup these days is water. All decisions made henceforth were without any sort of liquid assistance.

It started with Matt approaching Herb. "Herb, what would it take to get you on the Slip-n-Slide with me?" The reality is that Matt has a self-proclaimed Man Crush on Herb. Has had one for years. I think he really wanted to see my hunky and dreamy guy without a shirt on. Trying to save my husband from unwanted attention through the power of distraction I blurted out, "You would have an easier time getting ME on that thing NAKED." It was one of the those moments when your brain is not computing what you are saying as quickly as your mouth is producing the words. But by this point, the natives were wrestless. They had already had a naked party train down the slide with five grown men and were ready for something new! All of a sudden, guests who were previously disinterested in the presence of the Harji at the party, "YEAH! That will do too!"

At this point, Herb jumped in and tried to take the focus off of me. "Okay. You know what it would take for me to go? I am going to need the baby pool at the bottom filled with Strawberry Jell-O!" At this point Matt begins shrieking for Tamara to find some Jell-O. That guy REALLY wanted to see my husband topless!

About 20 minutes later, Herb had sufficiently distracted Matt with conversation of Fantasy Football, which is apparently powerful enough to take the focus off of Matt's quest to see Herb catapult his half-naked body down 40 foot of wet plastic. At this point, Tamara emerges from the house with a satisfied smile on her face and a large glass of steaming urine-colored liquid. "Sparkling Tangerine!!! It isn't Strawberry and it hasn't firmed up . . . but . . . it is Jell-O!!!"

The inner frat-boy emerges again. At this point, I think Matt was actually chanting Herb's name. Herb's response? "I said strawberry." As Herb's stubbornness on the subject became apparent, Matt got bored and turned his attention back to me, "Cara???? What would it take to get YOU on there?"

Who me? Little old me? Well friends, I am much easier when it comes to making a fool of myself, so really all it would take is you showing enough interest to ask the question in the first place. Thrilled but pretending to be exasperated, "Gimmee a t-shirt and boxer shorts!" And then, in a brief moment in which I must have forgotten that we were taking turns saving one another from unwanted attention, "And Herb will go with me!" You should have seen the look on his face. After quickly computing his expression, I let him off the hook.

Moments later, I found myself in my boss' bedroom with his wife, hoping that his skinny-man boxers will fit over my butt. At this point, I was completely committed to the Slip-n-Slide. After all, I had perfect strangers chanting my name and if the boxers didn't fit, I was going down in my pink polka-dotted GAP "Cheeky" undies! The boxers fit. And while in the moment, I may have been a little disappointed that I didn't have a good excuse to take the plunge in my underwear, in hindsight I am very grateful that I fit into a 30 inch waist pair of shorts! I guess that sugar-free diet is good for something!

There I stood, at the top of the hill with two drunk men - stretching . . . yes, stretching as they coached me on technique. At one point, a bikini clad girl who had taken to sliding down the hill on her knees, slow enough to miss the drop-off but fast enough to get down to the cooler for another Bartles and James looked at me and asked, "How much have YOU had to drink?" Unimpressed with my tea-totaler's reply, "Oh! You're gonna hurt tomorrow! You will really need some Ibuprophen!"

All of a sudden, I found myself running. Fast. I felt my toes in the muddy grass. The plastic crunching beneath my feet. And then. I stopped. Laid down. And slid. About half way down the slide. And here is one thing I love about drunk people. They have very skewed boundaries and as a result they attach to strangers very quickly. And with that attachment comes loyalty. As I peeled myself off the plastic, unsure of what my next move might be, I heard one of my drunk coaches yelling at the crowd behind me, "NO! Come on! No booing! No booing!!!! Come on Cara, you can DO THIS!!!"

WHAT!?!! They were booing? Decision made. I ran back up the hill. My drunk coaches are strategizing and encouraing me. I am focused. I run. I stop. I drop. I slide. Half way down the hill. Again. This happens two more times. By this point, the crowd wants me to succeed. And I have determined that I will NOT relive my elementary school days of public humiliation! I am already wearing my bosses underwear and now I am soaking wet with nothing to show for it. At least Tamara had the foresight to give me a BLACK t-shirt. That is, at this point, about all I have going for me!

Finally, determined NOT to be "picked last for the kicball team" ever again, I let go of all fear (and most of my sensibilities) as I ran across the grass, hit the plastic and DOVE! No stopping! About half-way down, I realized, I am about to hit the edge of a wodden wall and then drop three feet into a kiddie pool. I closed my eyes. It didn't hurt. Herb was there at the bottom - with the garden hose, filling the pool - and as I hit the platic, he lifted the edge of the pool up to brake my fall. And it worked. It didn't hurt that time. Or the next two times.

But yesterday and today . . . now that is a different story.

Cardboard Girl

she is a prisoner
in a cage whose door has no latch or lock
held captive by words like "then" and "should" and "impossible"
she carries a pine tree shaped car deotorizer in the back pocket of her GAP jeans
and pulls it out to impress her cell mates with stories of her adventures in the backcountry
adventures that she weaves as she goes along
sniffing the cardboard cutout
when she forgets what might come next
she has only ever seen photos of trees
because nothing real grows in her cell
except her belly's self-indulgent buldge
rope swings and tree climbing contests frighten her
she is fearful of splinters and sap stains

Maybe Not

My friend Libby has decided to take a ride on the Change Train this summer. Her Change Train is on a non-stop route; destination unknown. The conductor is a scary, tatoo clad personal trainer. To hear her describe this vehicle makes me think of the scary boat ride on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I always had to close my eyes during that part of the movie. And if the Change Train at all resembles the boat, then my response is the same. I don't mind adventure. Nor do I resist new things (with the exception of course, of sushi. and now that i have mentioned sushi, i fear that any comments i receive will be about how i am missing out on God's favorite food. let's try to stay focused, people!).

But real change. The kind that causes you to forgive, let go, make new habits, believe in God at a new level . . . you will always find me covering my eyes and rocking back and forth at the mere suggestion. And with the exception of the promise of "ridiculous fun" and viewings of "Sex and the City" reruns on DVD, I want nothing to do with Libby's change train.

The funny thing is that I have spent my whole life held captive by the belief that I need to change. I want to change. Sometimes I am so immersed in self-disgust that all I want to do is change. I have spent hours dissecting myself with the hope of finding the cancer that has caused such disdain for myself. But I can't find it. Maybe my biggest problem is that I won't accept that there is a blood coursing through my spiritual veins that ripped the cancer from me years ago. Maybe the root of my sickness is my obsession with needing to be broken.